


The Wrong Hale

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1800s, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Marriage, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Knotting, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Non-Con/Rape Outside of Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stillbirth, Unstable Peter, marital rape, original character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 77,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11204388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: “I apologize,” Stiles started.“You apologize often,” Derek commented.“It's expected,” Stiles explained. “But I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I haven't seen … I haven't seen much in life.” His heart was beating fast with excitement.“And you're here to see much?” Derek softly asked, curious why such a perfect creature would be hiding away when a ball carried on elsewhere.“I'm here to meet someone,” Stiles replied.~*~In which, Stiles and Derek find themselves in a star-crossed predicament.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING:
> 
> This story deals heavily with rape/marital rape. Stiles is married to Peter, and at first accepts that what Peter does to him is in his right to do so, as his spouse and Alpha.
> 
> Consensual sex happens between Stiles and Derek later in the story, and will be marked. All sex between Peter and Stiles is **not** consensual.
> 
> This story will have many heartbreaking moments, and scenes that may be triggering. I will give as many warnings as possible, and also attempt to make sure the tags are updated. Please let me know in the comments if there is a tag you believe I have missed.

Derek despised social events. He preferred the seclusion his title allowed him. He avoided the growing groups of socialites as much as possible, often times keeping to the outskirts of the ballroom whenever Peter hosted a party. He would even slink away to one of the many side rooms in the house. He enjoyed the privacy the rooms allowed him, offering him a hideaway.

Derek hid behind his scowl, glad that his demeanor could scare people away, despite their desire to connect their own name to his family. He only accepted because his uncle asked him to attend.

Peter had been almost as much of a recluse as Derek since the fire. They had taken to realizing that they were all each other had after the fire ripped their lives apart. Peter assumed Talia’s title as the head Alpha of the Hale family, despite the burns covering his body. Derek stayed in Peter’s pack, a need to make up for the fire—for his part in ruining their lives.

That was the night Derek caught sight of Stiles. He had felt an attraction to Stiles to moment he saw the young Omega.

Derek watched Stiles scan the shelves of books, growing fond of the curiosity the Omega displayed whenever he stumbled across a book of interest. He finally took pity on the boy, clearing his throat as the only audible cue that the library wasn’t as vacant as Stiles may have thought. He winced when Stiles nearly threw one of the books into the air.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles stammered to apologize as he picked the book up.

“Guests aren't normally allowed in here,” Derek offered in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

“I was feeling overwhelmed,” Stiles confessed. “I only wanted to slip away for a moment, but was carried away.” He turned to gesture towards the shelves. “You have a large library, and it helps me to read when I’m anxious. It’s an … _escape_ , of sorts.”

“I can understand that,” Derek replied, moving to replace his own book onto its respected place on the shelf.

“Not a fan of parties?” Stiles asked, his fingers dancing across the cover of the book in his hands. He took a step away from Derek out of respect.

“I haven't been for some time,” Derek offered.

“You don't think Lord Hale would mind us in here?” Stiles asked as he watched Derek choose a new book with ease.

Derek snorted in amusement. He couldn’t see Peter coming into the library for any other reason than to take a nap. “Lord Hale wouldn't mind,” he answered with a small smile. “He rarely comes in here.”

Stiles nodded. He froze when he saw the burns covering the back of Derek’s hand.

The burns were lighter, twisted scars that marred Derek’s skin. They wrapped around his hand, traveling up his wrist to hide beneath his sleeve.

Derek wanted to curse when he realized Stiles was staring at them. He imagined that the scars were displeasing to anyone, especially someone isolated in a foreign room with a stranger. He easily pulled the sleeve down to hide the scars from view. Still, he was overwhelmed with gratitude that Stiles didn’t recoil.

It had been months since someone was close enough to Derek to see the scars. He still felt guilty that he was able to hide his scars when Peter was forced to wear them across his throat and part of his cheek.

“I apologize,” Stiles started.

“You apologize often,” Derek commented.

“It's expected,” Stiles explained. “But I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I haven't seen … I haven't seen much in life.” His heart was beating fast with excitement.

“And you're here to see much?” Derek softly asked, curious why such a perfect creature would be hiding away when a ball carried on elsewhere.

“I'm here to meet someone,” Stiles replied.

Derek’s blood ran cold, hating himself for hoping that the faint smell of Omega was from somewhere else. He knew that this Omega must be the one Peter had been bidding for. He had seen the correspondences—had seen the money and the disputes Peter had with rival Alphas, all in an attempt to get this Omega to himself.

A trophy to brag about.

Derek recalled Peter’s words when he was finally informed of his uncle’s plans to wed again.

_He’s supposedly perfect._

“Perfect in every way,” Derek softly mumbled in correction to his uncle’s words.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed when he heard Derek mutter to himself. “I’m in the way?” He questioned, not hearing exactly what Derek said.

“I said ‘Is this common way’?” Derek lied, knowing that it sounded nothing like what he said before.

“I suppose it’s not common for me to wander the estate I’m visiting, no,” Stiles softly chuckled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Of course,” Derek replied. “And have you met the person you’re looking for?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Stiles managed to charmingly counter Derek’s question.

It was delightful, witty banter. Something Derek missed, dearly. But now, he hated it more than anything, knowing that Stiles was the Omega meant for his uncle. He knew instantly that the attraction he felt came from the tartly sweet scent of Omega.

A knock sounded at the door before they were opened. “Omega Stilinski?” Isaac’s voice called out in a timid manner, as if he knew he would be in trouble should Peter discover his mishap.

“We’re here, Isaac,” Derek answered, his eyes trained on Stiles still.

“I'm sorry, Lord Hale,” Isaac started when he realized that it was Derek with Stiles. “But Omega Stilinski’s father is looking for him.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, a soft question covering his features as he waited for Alpha Hale’s reaction.

Derek turned his gaze away from Stiles, knowing he allowed his eyes to linger longer than was proper.

Stiles faintly smiled in acceptance of Derek’s demeanor. “I hope to learn more of you, Lord Hale,” he offered with a respectful bow.

Derek hesitated before returning Stiles’ bow. He watched as Stiles left with Isaac, closing his eyes once the doors shut. He deeply breathed in a lungful of Stiles’ scent, before harshly huffing it out as if its very existence burned his nostrils. He knew he wasn’t going to forget the scent—nor was he going to stop thinking about the Omega it belonged to. He felt traitorous, his thoughts daring to linger on the Omega meant to be his uncle’s.

~*~

“Did you meet him?” Peter asked, breaking the silence between them for the first time since they retired to the parlor.

Derek looked at Peter, curious what answer his uncle desired. “I did.” He decided to be truthful.

“And?” Peter pressed.

Derek snorted in annoyance. “You’re the one that will marry him, not me.”

“And by doing so, he’ll become your pack as well,” Peter countered.

“He seems to be well liked,” Derek halfheartedly offered.

Peter turned to look at Derek. “Is he that uninteresting?”

Derek answered with a shrug.

“He seems to have a problem with speaking too much,” Peter commented. “He’ll drive me into an early grave if he normally flaps his mouth as much as he did tonight.”

Derek uncomfortably shifted his weight in his chair. He was annoyed with Peter’s comment, unsure why he should care as much. “He’s nervous.”

Peter looked at Derek, arching his eyebrow as an invitation for Derek to elaborate.

“An Omega who has seen little in the world, suddenly having his hand vied for by some of the wealthiest Alphas in the country,” Derek specified. “Of course he talks a great deal. He feels as if he has to make up for his lack of experienced accomplishments.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “As long as the boy can provide heirs, there is little else to concern himself with.” He slouched a little in his chair, almost as if he was repelled by the thought. “They said he hasn’t had a heat yet.”

Derek turned his gaze from Peter. “Many Omegas don’t experience a heat until they find a suitable mate.”

“And we all know you’re an expert when it comes to Omegas,” Peter turned a critical eye on Derek.

Derek turned a glare to Peter. “Not all Omegas are Kate, uncle,” he forcefully concluded.

“No,” Peter replied. “Just like not all Alphas are as foolish as you.”

“Nor are they as hateful as you,” Derek answered, getting up from his chair. “Congratulations, uncle. It seems you’ll have a mate in the coming weeks.”

Peter grunted in response. “I’ll have an _Omega_.”

The unspoken distain was evident in Peter’s voice. Derek could hear the underlying truth in Peter’s dislike—Peter would never see an Omega as being worthy enough to call his mate.

~*~

Derek hated watching the melancholy mood of Omega Stilinski—or just “Stiles” as he informed them. He had done his job during the mating ceremony, standing in front of his uncle as he watched Alpha Stilinski walk Stiles down the aisle and towards the altar. He took Stiles’ hand, symbolically transferring Stiles from the Stilinski pack to the Hale pack. He could feel the way Stiles trembled when he took his arm, conscious of the way Stiles clung to him as they moved to stand before Peter. His heart hurt when he heard Stiles’ soft ‘thank you’ as he reluctantly released his hold on Derek.

Derek laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling of his room as he tried to shut his hearing off. He didn’t want to hear what was happening in the other side of the house. He didn’t want to know what his uncle was doing to Stiles. He knew his wolf was still attracted, desiring to have Stiles for himself as he grew attached to the Omega over the passing months from their initial meeting until tonight.

Derek had spent more time with Stiles than Peter had. Peter had all but ignored Stiles’ existence, never making an attempt to see or speak to him. It irked Derek to know that his uncle was going to mate with Stiles, feeling as if he didn’t deserve him.

Part of Derek had grown wrapped up in the way Stiles spoke to him, freely and joyfully as he told him about his family and friends. He enjoyed listening to Stiles speak of the books he read, of the musical instruments he desired to learn, of the places he wished to go.

Derek knew more about Stiles in the passing weeks than he had about his own uncle, which was why this night was tearing him apart. He had seen the way Stiles tensed when Peter took his hand, forcing the young Omega to rise from his seat in the parlor. He dug his claws into the armrests of his chair, forcing himself to nod in acknowledgment when his uncle bid him goodnight. His eyes lingered on Stiles when he caught him looking at him. He waited until Stiles was gone from his view before he paced some. He threw his glass of bourbon in the fire, not caring when the crystal shattered as the alcohol forced the flames to grow.

Derek retired to his room and tried to read, knowing that nothing could change the fact that he knew what was happening. He broke the spine of his book when he heard the pained whimper echo through the entire house. His wolf clawed at his skin, growling that someone was hurting _his_ Omega—that he had to do something. He wanted to run from it, but forced himself to stay. Even if Stiles didn’t know he was close, he couldn’t abandon him. The young Omega no doubt wanted to run away from it all, but couldn’t.

Derek buried his head beneath his pillows, wanting to hide away from every soft noise that he could hear coming from Stiles. He focused on his breathing, determined to forget the wounded gasps that cracked from Stiles’ chest.

~*~

Shame welled in Stiles’ chest as he sat at the breakfast table, remaining silent as his eyes drifted towards Peter, watching him read through the papers in his hands. He recalled the way he tried to reach for Peter’s face last night, attempting to kiss him when they were alone in their bedroom. He subconsciously ran his hand over his wrists, still able to feel and see the imprint of Peter’s hands roughly grasping him, stopping his attempts to touch him. He felt even more foolish when realizing that he had allowed himself to romanticize the idea of being married off to an Alpha of standing.

Last night, all of Stiles’ childish assumptions melted away once he was standing naked in front of Peter. He tried to ignore the blush burning his cheeks as he stared over at the fire, unsure what to expect. He was surprised when Peter told him to get on the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, his skin hot against the cool sheets. He looked up at Peter, hoping that Peter would be gentler in his touch now that he was following his instructions. His breath caught in his chest, a lump lodged in his throat when Peter reached a hand out to him. His wolf felt proud, pleased that his Alpha was going to touch him. He was confused when Peter merely took hold of his upper arm, forcing him to move up the bed and turn onto his hands and knees. He turned his head back to look at Peter in confusion, his body turning with him. Peter had simply corrected him by turning his hips, spreading his legs until he felt too exposed.

Stiles was pulled from his thoughts when Derek entered the room, moving to take his seat on the other side of Peter. He sat up some, wincing as a pain shot through his back. He placed his hands in his lap as he cleared his throat some. “Good morning,” he weakly offered.

Derek nodded in response. “Good morning,” he softly uttered, keeping his eyes focused on anywhere but Stiles.

“Are you heading back to school?” Peter asked Derek, still focusing on his papers.

“I was leaving right after breakfast,” Derek answered as he looked at Peter.

Peter nodded.

Stiles’ stomach clenched, realizing that Derek wasn’t looking at him on purpose. He stared down at his hands, picking at his fingernails as he tried to keep his heartbeat calm. He was embarrassed, knowing that Derek—and the entire household—likely heard last night. He remembered the way he tried to hide his pain through soft whimpers that he hoped sounded pleased. He even tried to move with Peter, the pain subsiding a little then. He was ashamed when he cried as Peter’s knot formed, his whole body tense and in pain as he clawed at the bedding.

It was too much, too soon.

What Stiles learned in his classes were lies. He didn’t feel euphoric or sated as he laid on his side, staring at the fire. He had blinked his tears away when Peter finally separated from him. He foolishly looked over his shoulder, thinking that his Alpha would want to hold him close to continue the bond, but all he was met with was Peter’s back.

Stiles had hugged his pillow against his chest as he curled into it, pretending to disappear into the fabric. He had awoken in the early hours to a cold and empty bed, realizing that this was what he could expect in his life with Peter.

“Will you be coming back at all?” Stiles dared to ask.

Derek forced himself to look up at Stiles. He hated having to focus on Stiles now that there was the unspoken knowledge that he knew what happened the other night. “During break.”

Stiles didn’t know when the normal breaks for school was. He was never afforded the belief that he would have the opportunity to attend school himself.

“Some people have to worry about having careers. Not all of us can marry wealthy,” Peter coldly commented.

Stiles hung his head in shame, only starting to realize that Peter’s opinion of Omegas was worse than he once thought.

~*~

Peter was away on business far more often than Stiles expected he would be. He was often quick in his departures, with nothing spurring him into a hurried return.

Stiles found solace in walking the grounds, or spending his days in the library. He found himself falling asleep more than reading books, exhausted from the previous night. He tried to perfect his needlework in spare time, hoping that his feats in cross-stitching would amaze Peter. His attention to detail was always greater than the other Omegas in his seminars, leaving him to wonder if it would prove pleasing to Peter. He foolishly thought that Peter would care about something other than producing an heir.

Stiles startled when Peter burst through the library doors unexpectedly. He placed his book down, looking at his husband. “You’re back,” he commented, offering a small smile in welcome.

Peter didn’t acknowledge Stiles’ greeting, merely snatching a hold of Stiles’ wrist, yanking him up out of his seat.

Stiles winced at the harsh grip, stumbling some as he tried to get to his feet. He tried to keep up with Peter, his heart pounding loudly as he thought about what Peter could possibly be so upset about. “Alpha,” he called, knowing that Peter didn’t like it when he used anything but his title.

Stiles worried when Peter didn’t answer him. He tripped over his feet when Peter roughly whipped him into their room, as if he was nothing but a rag doll. He turned to look at Peter, his arms instinctively clamping close to his chest in an attempt to keep himself safe. He stood his ground as Peter moved closer to him, coming into his personal space.

Peter grabbed Stiles’ clothes, moving quickly to discard them.

“Alpha, please,” Stiles started, his hands immediately grabbing at his clothes to keep them on. “I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Peter snapped, his eyes burning red.

Stiles flinched at the venom in Peter’s words.

“What good are you if you can’t do the simple duty of giving me an heir?” Peter questioned. “What use are you to me, then?”

Stiles didn’t bother arguing. He let his arms fall to his sides, his eyes looking elsewhere out of shame. He let Peter pull his clothes from his body before being forced onto the bed.

Afterwards, Stiles remained on his stomach, his hands hugging onto his pillow as he kept his head turned to the side. His eyes traced the patterns in the wallpaper, admiring the detail he found there. He partially winced when he shifted his body, his muscles tense and sore from Peter’s touch.

“I’m entertaining visitors this evening,” Peter spoke for the first time since pulling Stiles’ clothes off.

Stiles dared to lift his body up, turning to look at Peter. He had never heard Peter speak in such a menial tone before. He appreciated the change from sharp commands and disheartening insults—he felt as if he had done something right.

“And I expect you to be on your best behavior,” Peter continued as he pulled his trousers on. He didn’t bother to close his shirt, his appearance being one of lust induced fever.

And with Peter’s shirt in such a state, Stiles could see the scars clearly, especially now that he was seeing Peter in the fleeting daylight pouring through the windows. The burns were large, covering a majority of Peter’s torso, even traveling well below his trousers.

Stiles knew how Peter hated the scars. He had tried to be loving in gesture, an attempt to prove that the scars meant nothing to him concerning Peter’s rank as an Alpha. He wanted to help prove that he was dedicated to Peter. Those actions ceased after the first attempt left bruises on Stiles’ wrists—he knew when his touch was unwelcomed.

“Of course, Alpha,” Stiles answered, knowing Peter would expect him to acknowledge his statement. He dared to lift his eyes to Peter’s face when he noticed his movements ceasing. He stared up at Peter, uncertain if he had made a mistake in addressing him how he demanded.

“Good,” Peter faintly uttered, his voice almost lost in thought before he turned his back to Stiles. “Any embarrassment from you is an insult to me.”

~*~

Derek focused on the texts sprawled out in front of him. His eyes stung from the hours he spent staring at the words written across the pages. He knew it was hopeless. His thoughts were still focused on the letter his uncle had sent him. He knew it was a form of bragging, knowing his uncle better than anyone else did.

_Nephew,_

_I won’t bother asking how classes are going—you’re likely already at the top of your class. No point in making pretend that I should be surprised with your excellence. You are a Hale after all._

_Work has been slow, but is improving. I think it helps merchants to welcome me with open arms, now that they think I’m respectable enough to keep an Omega._

_Married life suits me, I find. The Omega is tolerable enough. He’s incessant with his speaking, constantly talking when he shouldn’t. I think he’s discovered how unpleasant his voice is now that he’s started to only speak when prompted. I suppose even the most eligible Omega in the country could use some educating._

_I expect him to take with something soon. It’s insufferable, having to wait for Deaton to inspect, only to declare that there is still nothing. The boy’s too valuable to just give up, though, even if he does turn out to be defective. I’ll have to find another purpose for him._

The rest of the letter detailed work Peter wished to have Derek work on once returning to the estate.

Derek had nearly torn the letter to pieces, enraged by his uncle’s words in describing Stiles. He hated that his uncle had been practically gifted such a beautiful and devoted mate. His thoughts strayed to Stiles, wondering if the Omega was well, being treated decently by at least the servants.

Derek’s resolve to finish faster was only spurred on by the thoughts of Peter’s mistreatment when it came to Stiles. And Derek knew that the servants would do what they could to keep Stiles safe, but there was only so much to be done when it came to Peter.

~*~

Stiles took a deep breath before looking up in the mirror. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. The bruise was still blossoming across his cheek, most of his skin inflamed in the wake of Peter’s hand.

Peter had reacted swiftly, his hand shooting out faster than Stiles thought possible. The force had knocked Stiles to the side, almost out of his chair—it shocked Stiles more than anything.

It was true, Peter wasn’t gentle with him at night, behind the closed doors of their bedroom, but Stiles never heard of an Alpha physically disciplining their Omega for speaking. At least not in front of non-pack members.

Stiles couldn’t even remember what he said that displeased Peter. He could just remember the small scoff that came from the visiting Alpha, his ear ringing from the force of Peter’s blow.

“You’ll make him cry, Peter,” the female Alpha cautioned. “He won’t be pleasant to look at if you rough him up too much.”

Stiles had kept his eyes on the ground, scared that looking at anyone would make Peter angrier. He promptly left the room when Peter demanded he get out of his sight. He went to their room, knowing that he would be expected there when Peter felt like retiring for the night.

Hours passed without a sign of Peter’s return. Stiles tried reading his book, even knowing that there was a possibility of angering Peter with the very sight of it—Peter despised Omegas thinking that they were clever enough to adopt reading for leisure. But the words on the pages calmed Stiles. He felt like he could escape from reality—that there was a hopeful ending for him. He used to despise the stories the other Omegas would read—tales about sweeping romances where the Omega was cherished by an Alpha who loved them dearly.

Now, those stories were the only ones that made Stiles think he could possibly change Peter’s mind about him.

Growing tired in the late hours, Stiles made the mistake of wandering the hallways in hope of stumbling across Peter, or a servant that could help him discover where his husband had disappeared to. He paused his footsteps when he heard the muffled sounds coming from one of the guest rooms—the female Alpha’s. He stepped closer, trying to decipher what he was hearing.

A deep blush burned in Stiles’ cheeks when he realized he was hearing moans of pleasure. He slowly backed away from the door, knowing his curiosity lead him into believing that there was no intrusion. He was considered the Omega of the Hale estate in title alone, but not practice. He had no right to be intruding upon his guest—a visiting Alpha, at that. He stumbled when he backed up into the decorative table, one of the many heirloomed vases teetering at his disruption. He grasped at the vase, barely missing the handle as he watched in horror at the vase smashing into pieces amongst the floor.

Stiles fell to his knees, grabbing at the sharp pieces in a failed attempt to collect the shards. He knew, deep down, that he was going to be caught. Even if he ran, his scent would linger in the hallway and the Alpha would know he had been spying on her. His heart beat faster when he heard the door open.

“Oh, the poor thing,” the Alpha’s voice taunted from her spot in the doorway. “Fumbling around in the dark hallway is no place for an Omega.” There was a twinge of mockery in her tone, her amusement falsely playful in nature.

Stiles turned to look at her, stunned into silence as he took in her form.

Her dressing gown was draped loosely around her body, sash precariously tied around her waist. Her hair hung around her shoulders, wild from the passion Stiles’ clumsiness interrupted. She leaned against the doorframe, completely calm and languid besides the smile on her lips as she lingered, much like a predator stalking its prey.

“You look scared,” she smirked down at Stiles. She faintly snorted when Stiles didn’t answer her. She leaned back against the doorframe, her long limbs elegantly displayed. “Your Omega isn’t very well trained, Peter.”

Dread fell deep within Stiles’ stomach when he heard the sound of a pair of other footsteps. He knew who they belonged to, but the realization hurt more than anything. Tears prickled the back of his throat, his eyes burning when Peter emerged into the hallways, standing next to the visiting Alpha.

Peter’s shirt was hanging open, seemingly forgotten by Peter as he pulled his trousers into an appropriate manner, fastening them properly around his hips. It was all similar to how he had dressed after finishing with Stiles earlier, before the guests arrived. Only now, Peter seemed more annoyed at having to dress than how happy he was to dress earlier. His gaze landed on Stiles, a look of displeasure befalling him.

The Alpha moved behind Peter, wrapping her arms around his waist as she leaned her chin on his shoulder. A grin danced across her lips when she saw Stiles’ lip quiver at how her hand freely caressed one of the scars on Peter’s chest. “Perhaps he would prefer to watch, maybe even join? He does seem to be a curious thing,” she purred in Peter’s ear.

Stiles tore his sight away from the two of them, scrambling to his feet as he made his way back down the hallway, fleeing to his room. He furiously wiped the tears from his eyes, desperately trying to stop his vision from blurring. He reached his hand out for the door, to hide himself away from sight, believing that Peter would remain with the Alpha for the entire night. He wished he had been right.

A faint cry shattered the silence of the hallway, cracking from Stiles’ throat when a rough hand grasped him firmly, tightening like a vice grip.

Stiles reacted on instinct, turning to address the attack. He grabbed at the hand holding him, desperate to get free. He hesitated when he realized it was Peter. “Please, you’re hurting me,” he uttered, wishing Peter would let go of him. He stilled against the door, happily remaining silent as payment for Peter releasing his arm.

“You were told to remain in bed, not wander the halls at your leisure,” Peter angrily reprimanded him, his hand slamming against the door.

The sound of impact startled Stiles.

“I’m sick of your disobedience,” Peter continued, his voice like gravel cutting through the silence of the hallway. “You speak out of turn. You plague my every waking moment with your incessant voice.” He angrily huffed, Stiles’ shaking form only annoying him more. “You can’t even do your job.”

“This isn’t my fault,” Stiles answered, partially whimpering when he realized he spoke out of turn, seeing Peter’s glare deepen.

“I can’t stand you,” Peter bitterly stated. He didn’t care for the way Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed, the way his wide eyes glazed with unshed tears at the harsh words. “The very sight of you is repelling to me. I tolerate you because you were meant to give me heirs—a task you have proven to be useless at.” He shook his head. “You were supposed to be some amazing Omega, highly prized and valued over others. And as it stands, you’ve proven to be nothing but a wasted investment.”

Stiles turned his body, grasping at the door handle in a weak attempt to get away from the corner Peter drove him into.

Peter was the one that shoved the door open, not at all surprised by Stiles’ stumbling from the door giving way too quickly. “Her thighs are a thousand times more welcoming than yours.”

“Then go back to her,” Stiles answered, his words desperate for Peter to just leave him instead of mocking him. He fought back tears when Peter grabbed him, forcing him to turn and face him. “Why lie to me? Why marry me?” He partially demanded, ignoring the pain of Peter’s claws digging into his arms in anger.

“Because two Alphas are next to unlikely to have a child,” Peter snapped, shoving Stiles backwards and onto the bed.

Stiles stumbled, his limbs almost splaying out as he tried to catch himself.

“Because I was assured that an Omega would be with child within weeks of our coupling,” Peter answered, uncaring of how much hurt he could smell in Stiles’ scent. “But here we are, months into this pathetic excuse of a marriage, and you still haven’t taken with _anything_.” He leaned over Stiles, encroaching on his space. “Because fucking Alphas I find attractive makes it easier for me to stomach the idea of fucking you—of being stuck inside you almost every night.”

Stiles kept his gaze down, wishing Peter would take his silence as submission—acceptance that he was to be nothing but a means to an end. He turned his head away from Peter, waiting for him to leave him. He released an indignant yelp when Peter grasped ahold of his legs, easily flipping him over. He tried to claw his way up the bed, to get away from Peter. He didn’t care that Peter was his Alpha. He didn’t care if he was supposed to be a “good” Omega and submit. He didn’t enjoy the pain Peter gave him.

“Stop,” Stiles protested, trying to keep his clothes on as Peter pulled at them. A frightened sob cracked from his throat when he heard the tearing of his clothes, felt the press of Peter’s body nakedly against him as Peter forcefully spread his legs.

Stiles cried the entire time, trying to fight back as best he could, only to be overpowered every time. He was silent when Peter left him alone, slowly pulling the blanket up to cover himself. He didn’t bother shedding out of his ruined shirt, not having the energy to do more than close his eyes and hope that he’d have the strength to try tomorrow.

~*~

Stiles curled his legs up to his chest, slowly breathing in the steam of the bath. He was glad that the servants didn’t ask questions or stare at him and his bruises like he had dreaded they would. He was grateful for the warmth of the water, the soothing feeling of the milk and honey mixture he had found in one of the pantries. He barely startled when Erica entered, her steps soft and calm as she approached him.

Erica wordlessly moved to kneel next to the tub, sprinkling some mixture into the water. She averted her gaze from Stiles, respecting his privacy as best she could.

Stiles watched the mixture fall into the tub, reaching a hand out to the flower petal he saw floating on the surface. “What is it?” He asked, unfamiliar with the flower.

“Lavender and salt,” Erica answered. She finally looked at Stiles. “It helps relieve pain,” she elaborated.

Stiles weakly nodded his head, releasing his hold on the flower petal. He waited until Erica was done, intrigued when she offered to help him wash. He had been told he would have servants to tend to his every whim, should he marry someone as well off as Lord Hale, but he disliked the idea of forcing someone to do things for him. “You don’t have to,” he answered, slowly moving his body away from the side of the tub Erica was knelt next to.

“How do you expect to get your back?” Erica replied.

Stiles frowned, knowing she was right. He hesitantly lifted his arm, giving in to Erica. He was surprised how gentle she was with him. He noticed how often Erica would pause before washing over his bruises, knowing she was inspecting them.

“Have you ever been in love?” Stiles absentmindedly asked, wishing to fill the silence with something more—with someone willing to converse with him.

Erica paused her hand, looking at Stiles. “Yes,” she honestly answered. “I still am, actually.”

Stiles softly smiled at that. “Who are they?”

Erica resumed her washing before answering, “Boyd.”

Stiles nodded, remembering that Boyd was in charge of the stables. “He’s very kind.”

“He is,” Erica answered.

“He’s good to you?” Stiles asked.

Erica smiled as she thought about Boyd, her heart always swelling with love whenever thinking of him. “Yes. He’s very good to me. As is anyone towards those they love.”

Stiles nodded.

“I know love,” Erica continued, allowing her hand to still on Stiles’ shoulder. “And _this_ ,” she lightly pressed against the bruise of a handprint wrapped around the back of Stiles’ neck—where Peter had held Stiles down the other night as he bred him. “This isn’t love.”

Stiles didn’t pull away from Erica as he should have. He felt weak for inviting such a caring touch. “Thank you,” he faintly uttered, not wanting to admit to Erica that he knew it wasn’t love that drove Peter to treat him in such a manner—it wasn’t even lust. It was the desire to have a child, one that Stiles seemed to be unable to give Peter.

~*~

Derek dismounted from his saddle, his gaze falling onto the partially illuminated house. He hadn’t sent word that he was arriving early for vacation. He had miraculously finished his exams with enough time to warrant his early departure. He had planned on letting Peter know of his intended arrival, but ultimately decided against it. He would have rather visit when Peter was away on business, knowing he could relax and avoid conversing at length with Peter. But he knew he couldn’t avoid Stiles.

If Peter was speaking the truth, Stiles should likely be plump with the various delicacies Erica would sneak him now, all thanks to his feet being swollen from pregnancy. It would mean that Stiles was being treated well by Peter if there was a child on the way. Perhaps, Derek thought, that was all Peter needed to change back to the man he was before the fire.

“You’re back early,” Boyd greeted Derek, taking hold of the horse’s reins after Derek walked his mare towards the stables.

“I thought it couldn’t hurt to come back as an early surprise,” Derek offered.

Boyd offered a wordless affirmation that he understood Derek’s reasoning better than Derek did.

“How is everyone?” Derek asked, wishing to inquire about the events concerning the estate.

“Fine,” Boyd replied, taking the saddle off of Derek’s mare. “Isaac managed to make it through a thunderstorm without going feral.”

Derek was surprised by such news.

“Omega Hale is to thank for that,” Boyd explained as he continued to care for the horse.

“How so?” Derek asked.

“He spoke with Isaac about his fear,” Boyd continued. “Got Isaac to admit that thunderstorms are just an act of weather, nothing more. Then when the next one hit, Stiles tied a blindfold around Isaac’s eyes, and had Erica help him wrap layered cloths against his ears. Isaac said he couldn’t hear or see a thing, only smell the rain and the spark of lightning. It … calmed him.” He paused his movements. “I should say, Stiles calmed him.”

Derek leaned against the wall of the stables, not at all surprised that someone as curious as Stiles would have figured out a way to help those in need. “How are Erica’s seizures?”

“Better,” Boyd answered.

Derek silently nodded. “Should I thank Stiles for that as well?”

Boyd released a faint laugh. “Erica’s been managing her own foods, but the young Lord has been trying to upkeep an herb garden near the maze. And I dare say he’s been employing Erica’s help with it, trying to use remedies to soothe everyone’s ailments.”

Derek turned his gaze to the estate. “And my uncle,” he started, refusing to look at Boyd as he chose his next words carefully. “Does he rape Stiles every night, or just when he feels like it?”

The soft groan of the wooden beam beneath Boyd’s hands was answer enough.

“I’m sorry,” Derek uttered. “I know that’s a hard thing to answer.”

“Isaac tries to bring him enough drink that he passes out,” Boyd explained. “But then he just wakes in the middle of the night and hunts him down.” He released his hold on the wooden beam, seeing where his claws sharply scrapped lines into the surface. “Erica has tried taking care of Stiles’ aches and bruises the best she can, but they won’t heal, not when he isn’t allowed a moment to relax.”

“And you’ve even taken to sabotaging the carriage, it seems,” Derek stated as he observed the unusual amount of spare parts littering close to the stables.

Boyd looked at the spare parts, shrugging in response. “The longer it takes your uncle to return to the estate, the longer peace Stiles knows.”

Derek nodded. “I’m glad you’re here with him,” he admitted as he turned to look at Boyd. “I was afraid to think what would happen to someone as hopeful as Stiles should he be left alone with someone like Peter.”

Boyd’s frown didn’t soften, his expression still a sorrowful one.

“Is anyone still awake?” Derek asked. His silent question of whether Peter was still awake was evident enough. If he could keep his uncle from Stiles longer, it would be a small kindness he could give Stiles.

Boyd turned to look at Derek. “Your uncle retired earlier this evening,” he answered. “He barred Stiles from his room—says he won’t have a place to rest until he’s … done his job.”

“He’s sent him to one of the guest rooms?” Derek asked in disbelief.

Boyd shook his head. “Stiles won’t take a room, no matter how much we press. He knows how Peter would react, should he find out. He’s worried about Peter lashing out at us.”

~*~

Derek took his time walking through the hallways, appreciating the quiet greeting he received. He was pleased that the others had a break from seeing to Peter’s needs. He paused by the doors to the library, sensing the sleeping form hidden within. He gently pressed the doors open, observing the dimly lit room. He spotted a small, lit candle by the armchair, the light glowing around the occupant.

Stiles had fallen asleep in the armchair, despite how small the piece of furniture was. He had curled himself into the cushion, his head propped against the back of the cushion, a book sprawled open in his lap. He had a blanket draped over his legs to keep him warm from the small chill creeping through the house now that the fires were extinguished.

Derek observed the way Stiles was sleeping. He couldn’t believe how easily his uncle could neglect such a beautiful and caring person. He had heard of the ways Stiles helped the servants, how he treated them as the pack mates they truly were. He admired how kind Stiles was, only another reason Peter didn’t deserve him.

Derek thought about moving Stiles, possibly carrying him to one of the guest rooms to guarantee that the young Omega received a decent night’s rest. He reached a hand out, the faintest caress of his knuckles brushing up against Stiles’ skin as his fingers moved a few strands of hair from Stiles’ face.

Stiles released a faint sigh, a near whimper in his sleep, as his head turned to seek out the owner of the kind gesture. He curled deeper into the chair when a cold chill fell over his body, another glaring consequence of having a mate absent, no one keeping him warm against the night cold.

Derek made a decision, not caring if Peter grew angry with him for doing the decent thing by giving Stiles a bed to sleep in for the night. He bent down, bracing his arm behind Stiles’ back as he slipped his other arm beneath Stiles’ legs. He easily lifted the Omega, turning him towards his chest. He steadily made his way out of the room, heading down the hallway towards the guest room near his own room. He wanted Stiles close enough that he could hear any distress that could befall him. He wasn’t surprised that Stiles didn’t wake from being lifted and moved—he knew Stiles was likely exhausted from Peter’s endless hounding.

~*~

Stiles rushed to get ready in the morning, discovering himself to be in a room he had never before been in. He realized it was one of the many guest rooms. He couldn’t remember how he came to be in the room, curious as to how he could possibly have gotten himself here. He recalled the soft touch of a hand touching his face last night whilst in the depths of sleep. He wondered who it could have been, if it had truly happened. His thoughts drifted to Derek, thoughts of the young man being ever so noble.

Stiles pushed those thoughts away, asking himself why someone like Derek would care about him in such a manner. He hesitated when he nearly passed by the mirror. He paused, looking at himself, his gaze dropping to the flat span of his stomach. He had been with Peter for months now—nearly a year of sharing Peter’s bed and suffering his rough touches and cruel words. And for those months, nothing had happened. He ran his hand along his stomach, recalling how often his tutors and peers spoke about the ease they experienced in transitioning to carrying a child. He understood Peter’s irritation with him and his inability to take with anything. He recalled the words of Lydia’s aunt, from the ball before he met Peter—words of advice should he be needing them in the coming future. He remembered how she spoke in hushed words, about how some Omegas need help when it comes to their heat and the potential of conceiving—that there was a tea even she used before conceiving more than half her babies.

Stiles closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he let the image of a swollen belly and loving hands caressing him fall from his thoughts. He hurried to the dining room once he was presentable, hoping that Peter would not be irritated by his late arrival. He slowed his pace when he finally entered the dining room, noticing that Peter was still reading his newspapers over an empty, clean plate. It was a sign that Stiles hadn’t missed the morning meal.

Peter didn’t look up from his paper when Stiles took his respectable seat beside him. “Sleep well,” he dryly stated.

Stiles looked up at Peter as he busied his hands with the napkin in his lap. “As well as I could,” he offered.

Peter released a partial grunt of acknowledgment.

Stiles turned to look at Erica when she entered with a tray of food. He faintly smiled at her, a welcoming gesture that he hoped would convey that Peter was in a tolerable mood today.

They ate in the same silence that normally lingered between them during these times that they were forced to sit together.

Stiles silently drank from his teacup as Peter wrote down something at the bottom of a letter he had been given by Isaac. His free hand fiddled with the napkin in his lap, a worrying habit he did when he feared Peter’s response to his proposed questions. He waited until Isaac left with the letter and its response, placing his teacup down with ease as he looked down at his napkin, shyly looking back up at Peter as he steeled his resolve. “I was wondering if we could head into town today?”

Peter blankly looked at Stiles. “And why would we do that?”

Stiles bit the inside of his lip. “You said you had little to do today before you leave,” he offered. “I thought getting fresh air might be nice. There’s also some tea that I would like to get. And once you leave, I won’t be able to go by myself.”

“I don’t have time to bring you,” Peter replied in annoyance. “Have one of the servants go for you.”

“The tea … It has many components,” Stiles answered, keeping his gaze down as he stared at the plate. “I’m afraid that some of the merchants will be selling them by their different names, and the servants could be confused.”

“It’s a tea,” Peter snapped as he looked at Stiles. “It can’t be that important. Find yourself grateful for what you have here.”

“Do you have to yell this early in the morning?” Derek questioned as he entered the dining room, his gaze traveling over to Stiles.

Stiles was surprised that Derek was here, not knowing he had come back from school yet. And in that moment, he realized that what he had thought was nothing more than a dream the other night must have truly been Derek.

“So it was you that arrived last night,” Peter answered, not caring for his nephew’s comment.

“I finished my exams early,” Derek replied, taking the seat next to Peter, sitting across from Stiles.

“Good, you can take Stiles into town, then,” Peter replied.

Stiles looked up at Peter before looking at Derek. “You don’t have to—it was a silly errand anyways,” he started.

“Silly enough to pester me but not him,” Peter stated.

Stiles looked down at his plate in silence.

“I’m sure it seems silly to someone like you, uncle,” Derek replied.

“Then you won’t find it a waste of your time,” Peter answered.

“Not at all,” Derek stated. It was worth bickering with Peter, seeing how relieved Stiles looked afterwards.

~*~

Stiles was inspecting the healer’s various products, smiling when the woman noticed him.

“I didn’t think we’d see you again,” the female Omega pleasantly greeted Stiles, moving around her table of wares to embrace him.

Stiles faintly smiled, hugging the woman back. “My husband has been busy,” was all he offered as an excuse, uncertain how much he was allowed to disclose.

“Well, I’m glad you could finally make it,” she answered as she moved back to the other side of the table. “Is there something you’re looking for in particular today?”

Stiles looked down at his list, knowing that any Omega would know what it was he was trying to concoct. He turned to look at Derek, relieved to find him still lingering by the bookseller. He looked back at the healer. “I have a list, if you wouldn’t mind helping me.”

The healer smiled, reaching her hand out for the paper Stiles was clutching in his hand. She took the list with ease, turning it in order to read the writing. Her smile fell, eyebrows furrowing when she looked up at Stiles. She knew what it was, displeasure falling over her features.

“This could be dangerous,” the healer stated, not making a move to gather the ingredients Stiles was asking for.

“Please,” Stiles earnestly pleaded. “I haven’t … I need help making it happen. Lady Martin’s aunt told me about this tea. She said it helped her in the past.”

The healer frowned, her gaze moving over to Derek before looking back at Stiles. “Does he know?”

Stiles paled some, quickly shaking his head.

The healer sighed before reluctantly moving to gather the necessary ingredients.

Stiles was relieved the woman was finished when Derek finally moved to stand with him.

“Almost done?” Derek offhandedly asked, uncertain if Stiles managed to find what he needed.

“Almost,” Stiles faintly answered, patiently waiting for the healer to tie the bag.

“A scoop is enough to help,” the healer instructed Stiles as she placed the bag in his hand. “Do not exceed more than two scoops in a day,” she warned.

Stiles nodded. “Thank you,” he answered as he hugged the bag of ingredients to his chest, praying it would be the answer he was looking for.

“How much?” Derek questioned, knowing that Stiles had no money of his own—that Peter likely didn’t give Stiles any money to purchase the tea.

“I will not accept your coin,” the healer harshly answered Derek, glaring at him. She looked back at Stiles, explaining, “It is a gift. One I hope you won’t have to use.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what the exchange between the two of them meant. But he did understand when someone was mad at him, and he could feel the woman’s anger for him in the venom of her words.

“What is it?” Derek asked as they walked down the road, his hand wrapped around the reins of their horse.

“A tea,” Stiles faintly answered, tightly clutching at the bag as if it was a lifeline.

“A tea for what?” Derek questioned.

“Just a tea,” Stiles replied.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t give you your gift,” Derek jested. He stopped walking when he realized he couldn’t hear Stiles’ footsteps accompanying his own. He looked back to see Stiles standing still, staring at Derek quizzically.

“My … gift?” Stiles questioned, his features perplexed.

“Why does that sound so strange?” Derek asked.

“I suppose I don’t understand,” Stiles offered, moving once more to stand by Derek’s side. He watched Derek retrieve a small object from the satchel tied against the horse’s saddle. He peered over Derek’s shoulder, seeing the brown parchment paper wrapped around the rectangular shape.

“I never gave you a gift to welcome you,” Derek explained, offering the wrapped gift out to Stiles. “I suppose it’s unkind of me to try and ask for something in return.”

Stiles continued to silently stare at the wrapped object, still clinging to his tea is desperation.

Derek’s features softened in confusion. “Of course, you don’t have to accept it,” he started to pull his hand away from Stiles. He was a little surprised when Stiles’ hand shot out to grab the object, preventing Derek from pulling away.

“Please, I just,” Stiles started, releasing a deep sigh, one that sounded close to tears. “No one has given me a gift before,” he explained.

Derek released a faint snort as he let Stiles have the gift. “I know that’s a lie.”

Stiles looked offended by Derek’s words.

“You were the most eligible Omega in fine society,” Derek factually stated as he turned to tend to the horse, softly stroking a hand down her mane as he tried to focus on something other than Stiles. “To believe you have never been gifted something would make me a fool.”

Stiles held the wrapped gift closer, allowing his fingertips to caress the rough material of the parchment. “I’ve been given flowers and chocolates,” he admitted. “Even fine jewelry and clothes. Things that an Omega needs to show status. They weren’t gifts,” he concluded, looking up at Derek. “Those were all given to me as brags. The idea of luxury being presented to my father in hopes that he’d choose them. No one’s ever given me a gift before with me personally in mind.”

Derek frowned at that.

“Thank you,” Stiles added, looking back down at the wrapped object.

“You haven’t even opened it,” Derek countered. “You may hate it.”

Stiles released a soft laugh. It was the first one Derek had heard since before Stiles’ marriage to Peter.

“I'm sure I won't,” Stiles stated in reassurance. “Thank you,” he repeated, his fingers gently making easy work of the wrappings. He ran his fingertips over the leather cover of the book. He traced the title as a small smile danced across his lips. “The mysteries of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Our library doesn't have a copy,” Derek explained, carefully evaluating Stiles’ reaction. “You've been having a long time to yourself lately, and I thought you'd appreciate some variety.”

“I haven't read this yet,” Stiles replied. “We’re told that we won't have a need for such silly things,” he added. “Our tutors tell us how often Omegas let their imaginations run wild when we should be focusing on maintaining a household; seeing to our children.” Stiles’ features fell some. “I suppose I don't have that problem.”

Derek reached a hand out to touch Stiles’ shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “It's still early,” he offered, biting his tongue some. “Peter … he's not the easiest person to connect to.”

Stiles pressed the bag of tea into his chest, knowing it was his only hope. “Deaton’s spoken to me about what's happening. He said … he said that the fire had a progressively negative effect on Peter’s psyche.”

Derek allowed his hand to fall away from Stiles, turning back to the horse. “Peter was injured worse than me in the fire. Most of his body was injured. As I'm sure you've noticed.”

Stiles remained silent as he resumed walking beside Derek. “Not in particular.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles.

A light blush crept up Stiles’ neck, moving to settle on his cheeks. “Peter is particular in … how we see each other.”

Derek ran his hand over the mane of the horse, his nails carding through the horse’s hair as he struggled with control.

Stiles took Derek’s silence as understanding as he watched his feet kick up dirt from the road. He was slightly surprised when he felt Derek take his arm in hand. It was the gentlest touch he felt yet, more of a guiding gesture than a forceful demand. He looked up at Derek, furrowing his eyebrows in question.

“Storm’s coming,” Derek explained as he moved from behind Stiles. He moved to Stiles’ side, placing his hand on his hips.

Stiles ignored the heat burning in his belly as he shuffled the items in his arms in order to gain a hold on Derek’s shoulders. He marveled at how easily Derek was able to lift him up into the horse’s saddle. His hand lingered on the span of Derek’s shoulders, his fingers wanting to stay touching Derek as he reluctantly pulled away, knowing he wasn't allowed such pleasantries.

Stiles was surprised when Derek climbed onto the horse behind him. He hid his blush, trying to concentrate on the movement of the horse rather than the close proximity of Derek’s body. He tried, but failed.

Derek’s body was flush against Stiles, his chest broad and warm against Stiles’ back as he reached around him to grasp the reins. He settled into the saddle, his thighs brushing up against the back of Stiles’ as he bracketed Stiles’ hips with his own.

It was intimate, more so than it should have been. Derek’s arms were wrapped around Stiles as he steered the horse towards home. Stiles allowed himself the luxury of pressing back into Derek’s body, remembering how he once thought he'd feel this protected—this cherished—when held by his husband to be.

“You carried me to the guest room, didn’t you?” Stiles softly asked, a familiarity falling over him from just the press of Derek’s warmth against him.

“You shouldn’t be forced to sleep in a chair,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded in acceptance. “Still,” he faintly countered. “Thank you.”

~*~

“Where have you been?” Isaac questioned the moment their horse approached the estate.

“Weather,” Derek half answered as he dismounted. He reached up to Stiles, helping ease him off the saddle and to the ground.

“Alpha Hale has been asking,” Isaac answered, knowing Derek would understand his warning.

“My uncle needs to learn to worry less,” Derek replied, watching as Boyd took the horse further into the stables.

Stiles held the tea and book closer to his chest as he moved from Derek. “I'll inform him that we've returned.” He started to head inside, pausing as he turned back to look at Derek. “Did you know?”

Derek looked at Stiles, his eyebrows arching in question. “Did I know what?”

“Who I was, the night we met,” Stiles elaborated.

Derek’s eyes flickered to the book clutched against Stiles’ chest. “Not at first, no. But after Isaac called you Omega Stilinski … well, I knew then.”

Stiles nodded, feeling better in knowing that Derek hadn’t lead him on.

“Did you?” Derek asked, curious to know.

Stiles hesitated. He knew he walked a fine line in anything he dared to utter aloud. And he knew the peril he would face for admitting such a truth—that he had entertained the idea that his intended was another. “I had hoped you were him,” he softly confessed, tearing his gaze away from Derek as he turned to head into the estate.

~*~

Derek was roused from his sleep by a sharp knock on his bedroom door. He hastily gathered his trousers, ignoring the absence of his nightshirt as he made his way over to the door. He was surprised to find his uncle standing in the hallway, observing him with an annoyed look.

But it wasn't the look Peter gave him that caused Derek to pull away. It was the smell that hit him.

The smell of a fertile Omega in heat covered Peter.

“I need you to fetch Deaton,” Peter stated, as if it was explanation enough.

“Why?” Derek asked, his own voice sounding wrecked, just from the smell of Stiles lingering on his uncle.

“Because Stiles is delirious,” Peter replied. “His heat is … inconvenient.”

Derek slowly observed his uncle, unsure of his meaning.

“Fetch Deaton for me, or the boy will suffer the longer I'm not with him.” Peter used Derek’s compassion as leverage, knowing Derek cared more about Stiles’ wellbeing than listening to him.

Derek was swift in his haste, knowing he could have spared the horse some when Deaton appeared unconcerned at his beckoning.

“Your uncle has yet to realize that an Omega’s heat is far more intense than an Alpha or Beta rut,” Deaton explained when they returned to the estate. “Stiles is young—virile. He is going to need more attention than your typical Omega.”

“Peter doesn't overreact,” Derek countered as he escorted Deaton into the house.

Derek had been right—Peter wasn't overreacting. He knew something was wrong when both Peter and Deaton came to update him on Stiles’ condition.

“Has he had a change in his diet?” Deaton asked Peter.

“He eats little,” Peter replied, sounding exhausted.

“He asked to get a new tea,” Derek offered, knowing that Peter didn't know the first thing about Stiles, let alone his diet.

Deaton observed Derek carefully. “What type of tea?”

Derek shook his head, not knowing what Stiles had been hiding when getting the tea. “The woman in the market seemed to know what it was. She seemed angry with me.”

Deaton sighed. “It will pass,” he offered as an explanation. “He's in a pseudo-heat, activated by a mixture of herbs.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, realizing why the woman in the market was angry at him.

“Is it as effective as a normal heat?” Peter finally asked.

Derek turned and looked at Peter.

“Heats don't make Omegas more fertile than usual,” Deaton explained. “Heats desensitize an Omega’s pain receptors. It puts them into a frenzy, making them seek being bred.”

Peter huffed in annoyance. “Is he even fertile at all?”

“Stiles likely sought out this tea because he has yet taken with child,” Deaton offered. “He is young, Peter, and it is not uncommon for an older Alpha to have trouble while trying to breed an Omega.”

“He's yet to take with anything,” Peter answered, not listening to Deaton’s explanation.

“He did this because of you,” Derek finally snapped, not surprised when both Deaton and Peter turned to look at him. “He's trying, it's not his fault.”

“Thank you for your input, nephew,” Peter replied, uncaring for Derek's outburst.

Deaton waited until Peter went back into the room with Stiles. “You're not wrong,” he stated as he packed his bag. “Stiles is a fertile Omega. This pseudo-heat is only half as intense as his normal one will be. It seems intense now because the onset happened too quickly for his body to adjust. He has yet to share a heat with Peter, and this is his body trying to make amends. At the same time, his body is rejecting such a weak coupling.”

“Peter’s an Alpha,” Derek countered.

“But he's not as young as he used to be,” Deaton explained. “After the fire, he suffered too much trauma to his body to guarantee a child would spring from coupling with another Alpha.”

Derek knew what Deaton was speaking of. It was clear that Peter was seeking an heir when he started entertaining the idea of vying for the attentions of an Omega. It was strange when Peter looked towards mating an Omega when he could never before stomach the idea of being, in Peter’s opinion, lowered in such a manner.

“Will Stiles have a child after this?” Derek asked.

“Unlikely,” Deaton heavily answered as he finished packing his bag. “Unless Peter gets extremely lucky, even with a heat like this … it's unlikely Stiles will ever be able to give Peter a child.”

“Tell him that,” Derek pressed.

“I have, Derek,” Deaton answered. “He knows it is a small chance, but he's also a proud man. He'll never believe that he's unable to have again what he had before the fire.”

Derek turned away from Deaton. “So you don't care what happens to Stiles the longer this is drawn out?”

Deaton blankly looked at Derek. “Do you?”

Derek bit the inside of his cheek. “My uncle is a violent man when he doesn't get what he wants.”

“I'm afraid that's the man Stiles’ father married Stiles off to,” Deaton replied. “With respect, Derek, your uncle is still remembered as the man he was when Talia was Alpha of the Hale family.”

“He hasn't been that man in years,” Derek corrected.

“Exactly,” Deaton agreed.

~*~

Stiles was sitting on the porch, blanket draped over his legs as he relaxed in his chair. He was watching the gardeners shearing the bushes and tending the flowers. His body was sore from the previous nights, exhausted from his heat driving him to do nothing but keep his body sated. He wasn't sure if it worked, barely remembering if Peter even bothered to see to him all the time. He remembered being held close as Peter’s knot formed, his hips bucking and trying to rock back and forth, seeking more. He also remembered Peter pushing him away afterwards, how drained and lonely he felt—abandoned by the one that was supposed to be protecting him as his body worked hard to produce a child. He remembered crying alone when Peter would reject his touch and cravings for intimacy.

Stiles startled when he realized someone had joined him on the porch without even noticing their arrival. “Good morning, Derek,” he mindfully breathed in surprise.

“Afternoon,” Derek answered as he took a seat next to him. “Feeling any better?”

A small blushed burned Stiles’ cheeks as he looked away from Derek. “A little, thank you.”

“Did he hurt you?” Derek asked, knowing no one else would dare to ask Stiles, or to confront Peter if he had.

“No more than I've hurt him,” Stiles lightly answered.

“Impossible,” Derek bitterly uttered. “My uncle is a proud man, more than anything. He'd hurt you tenfold in reprimand if you caused him pain.”

“It was my own fault,” Stiles replied. “I didn't tell him I was taking the tea in hopes of hurrying a heat along. I didn't even tell you when you asked.” He looked down at the blanket covering his legs, idly picking at the woven fabric. “I made him late for his trip.”

“And that gives him reason to hurt you?” Derek questioned.

“He didn't—”

“Don't lie to me,” Derek snapped as he stood from his seat, taking a few steps away from Stiles, moving to lean against the porch railing. “I can hear you. At night.”

Stiles tightened his hold on his blanket. “I'm weaker than an Alpha,” he finally stated in a firm tone. “Even than a Beta. Peter isn't used to bedding an Omega. It's … it has taken time for me to get used to it, but it's easier now.”

Derek scoffed, shaking his head. “That's not what sex is about. It's not supposed to just be about ease. Or did your classes just teach you to roll over and present, without hopes of gentleness or care?”

Stiles ignored the hot tears burning his eyes as he turned to glare at Derek’s back. “You pretend to care then mock me?” He demanded to know. His glare didn't soften when Derek turned to look at him. “What do you want to know? That I cry every time Peter forces my legs open? That if I'm too audible, he'll clamp his hand over my mouth to stop the sobs? Or that he's taken to other’s beds because he finds mine revolting?”

Derek remained quiet as Stiles quickly brushed the tears away.

“I don't know what is right, just what I've been given,” Stiles answered. He relaxed in his chair, turning his attention back to the gardeners. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience I've afforded you.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed, wishing he was better with his words. “I'm not cross with you. This whole situation … Peter will never accept that he's unable to have an heir.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek. “Deaton told you?” He questioned.

“He explained the situation,” Derek offered. “That the fault lies with Peter and not you. That Peter will continue to grow in anger, but place the blame elsewhere, as he always has,” he crossed his arms over his chest.

“It won't stop until I give him what he wants,” Stiles concluded, his voice sounding small, as if he knew the solution but dared not to speak it. “I'm at a dead end, with one solid route to proceed.”

Derek carefully observed Stiles.

“Please, don't make me say it,” Stiles answered Derek’s silence.

“I'm not sure what you're speaking of,” Derek lied. He had ignored the thought Deaton had planted in his mind. He pretended that excitement didn't bubble up in his stomach when he thought of the chance to actually fulfill such a task. He lied to himself, determined to believe that he didn't wish for it with every ounce of his heart, even if it was a direct betrayal to his uncle. His family. His Alpha.

Derek’s Alpha, who used and abused his Omega to no end, when Derek’s own instincts screamed at him to protect.

“I can't produce a child to present to Peter on my own,” Stiles started, his voice heavy from the fear he held back. “Deaton said that it should only take one try—that my body is … used to the concept of being bred.” A sharp blush burned his cheeks as he dared to look at Derek. “It would still be a Hale child.”

Derek tensed at hearing Stiles utter the request. “Deaton told you to ask me this?” He questioned, unmoving from his spot.

“He told me it was the only sure way I would conceive,” Stiles answered, still unsure of Derek’s answer. “I thought to ask you. Because—”

“You thought incorrectly,” Derek sharply stated as he pushed away from the railing. He stared intensely at the blanket covering Stiles’ lap, knowing it acted as a shield to help hide the damage Peter inflicted the precious days. “I'd never commit such an act,” he stated, his fists tightening. “Not against Peter.”

“If Peter asked you to, would you?” Stiles asked, his chest burning with shame.

“If Peter wished me to, it would be a different story completely,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded. “I … I'm sorry,” he quietly offered. “I misunderstood.”

“How could you mistake that?” Derek partially demanded, wanting to know how he could let himself lead Stiles on in such a manner.

“Foolishness,” Stiles barely answered.

The silence was deafening, leaving Stiles aching for Derek to say something—anything that would reassure him that Peter would never know he asked such a thing of Derek.

“We'll pretend this never happened,” Derek offered, feeling the shame in Stiles’ scent, knowing Stiles showed regret in how he refused to look at him.

“Thank you,” Stiles hollowly replied. “I'm … I'm awfully tired.”

Derek barely nodded as he moved towards to house doors. He paused, wishing he could make Stiles understand. No matter how bad it seemed, Peter was still _Peter_. Derek’s uncle and Alpha, the last of his family, and to do such a thing to him … it broke Derek's heart to realize how easy and willing he found himself wanting to agree.

“I'm headed back to school,” Derek informed Stiles. “I was planning on delaying my departure until my uncle returns. To make sure you weren't alone.”

“I'm fine,” Stiles hollowly replied, watching the wind shaking the blossoms through the air.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> There are two sex scenes detailed in this chapter.
> 
> There is also violently physical domestic abuse between Peter and Stiles.
> 
> For more info, go to the note at the end of this chapter.

“You never said you could play,” Peter stated as he tightened his hold on the whiskey glass.

Stiles looked up from his cross-stitching. He had kept quiet since the party ended. He knew he upset Peter when Peter’s harsh grip tightened around his bicep, pulling him flush against the Alpha’s side. The guests appeared ensnared by Stiles’ playing, listening intently to every note he nimbly played. He didn’t understand Peter’s dislike for his playing when everyone else marveled—he hadn’t caused any embarrassment for Peter.

“My mother played,” Stiles offered.

“I didn't ask about your mother,” Peter stated in annoyance. “I suppose for an Omega—having nothing better to do than be pampered day in and day out, you could learn a few pleasing traits.”

Stiles turned his attention back to his cross-stitch, ignoring Peter’s insult. He had grown accustomed to such slights. He focused on completing his cross-stitch, excited to see his father this upcoming weekend. He knew Peter could grow petty and deny him from seeing his father. He was grateful for the time passing, hoping Peter would retire before him, resulting in another night of peace. He smiled and thanked Isaac for his tea, keeping a stray eye on Peter. He didn't flinch when Peter yelled at Isaac for upsetting the ice tray.

“It's alright, Isaac,” Stiles sighed, gesturing for him to leave. He caught the way Peter glared at him.

“Giving orders,” Peter huffed.

“It's not an order to tell someone they're not in trouble,” Stiles boldly replied.

Peter silently observed Stiles for a moment, curiosity pulling at his unguarded features. “You have a bite to you,” he commented. “A change?”

“I don't know,” Stiles answered, used to the questioning. He was used to answering the question of if he was with child, and disappointing Peter every time.

“I suppose it was too much to hope,” Peter replied. His eyes tracked Stiles’ movements. “What are you working on?”

“A gift for my father,” Stiles replied as he fed the needle through the taut fabric. “I've improved over the months and wanted to show him.”

“Improved?” Peter sounded as if his interest had been piqued.

“Yes,” Stiles replied. “I was considered subpar to the others in my class, but I've improved since then.” He looked up at Peter. “Nothing to do all day but be pampered, I've had enough free time to hone my skill.”

Peter partially scoffed, amused by Stiles’ defiant snide. He moved to stand, reaching a hand out to pull the fabric from Stiles’ hold. He rotated his hand until he could see the image Stiles was working on.

A half done scenery of the Hale estate’s backyard was embroidered into the blank canvas like fabric. The detail was immense, every gentle placement of the thread carefully taken into consideration. It was a marvel to look at, a product of the hard work Stiles placed into it.

“You have gotten better,” Peter commented as he turned to look at the painting above the fireplace. He knew of the hard work that placed countless hours of effort into the beauty the paint created. He remembered how worried she had been when revealing the final product to him. Now it was all he had left of her.

“It's difficult,” Peter started, reaching his hand up to place the glass on the mantle above the fireplace. He allowed his hand to linger, outstretched through the air to reach the edge of the frame. He knew it hid the charred canvas where the fire had burned and boiled away the paint. “To watch someone struggle with getting better at a hobby they enjoy. It becomes a task—something they end up despising because they think they aren't good enough.”

Stiles carefully watched Peter as the Alpha’s fingertips traced along the frame of the painting above the fireplace. He knew who was in the painting with Peter, knowing before having to ask Erica to tell him. He knew the woman in the painting, Ida, was Peter’s late wife—a strong, beautiful Alpha whose shadow stayed lingering over Stiles. He knew that he'd never compare to her—that in Peter’s eyes, no one could. He envied her, and mourned for her, for she knew the man Peter had once been.

“Alphas are told to not bother with lazy things like painting or stitching,” Peter continued, his eyes scanning over his wife’s features. “She could have been anything she wanted. She was well read, versed in the sciences and languages I'd never heard spoken before the words left her lips.” His eyebrows furrowed as he stared up at the painting. “She disliked the original painting that my family commissioned. She hated it so much, she stabbed through the canvas with a fire poker,” a faint smile graced his lips as he recalled the memory.

“She was able to paint you both by just memory,” Stiles commented, amazed at the craftsmanship.

“She was,” Peter stated, his fingertips tracing over the painted hem of her dress. His other hand tightened around Stiles’ cross-stitching. He hated how alive the fabric felt even as he squashed it in his grip, that it felt entirely different than the hollowness stabbing through his chest at the phantom memory of his wife.

Stiles hesitantly stood, knowing that Peter was showing a vulnerable side for once. He was certain it wouldn’t end well, not if Peter realized how much he had just shown.

“Come here,” Peter suddenly commanded, as if he was alerted by Stiles’ movement.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak before freezing. He knew that he would only upset Peter with anything he said. He silently took the few steps towards Peter, closing the gap between them. He stood beside Peter, his eyes looking up at the painting. He felt jealous of how the Peter in the painting was looking down at the woman, a smile of admiration and love decorating his features. He looked happy, at ease—completely foreign to the man Stiles knew and called Alpha.

Peter turned his attention towards Stiles, observing him. He allowed his hand to slip away from the frame, moving to cup Stiles’ cheek. He turned Stiles’ face towards him, forcing the Omega to look at him.

Stiles looked at Peter, knowing that there was no point in shying away. He wasn’t going to act terrified of Peter—there was no point to it, not when they both knew that Peter was innately stronger than him.

“They weren’t wrong,” Peter started, eyes observing Stiles’ features. “You are beautiful.”

Stiles’ heart was drumming loudly as he tried to place the warmth he felt growing in his chest. It was new, a feeling completely unknown to Stiles when it came to Peter. He felt proud, as if he managed to accomplish something now that Peter had paid him a compliment. He willingly moved to how Peter wanted him, his body lingering between Peter and the fireplace. He could feel the portrait looming over him, aware that it retained an unreachable pedestal that Stiles could only hope to one day be in range of.

Peter’s hand moved to cup the back of Stiles’ neck, gracefully guiding the Omega towards him. He pressed his lips to Stiles’, easily silencing the soft noise of surprise that escaped from Stiles’ throat. He opened his mouth to Stiles, intrigued by the tang of excitement that sparked in Stiles’ scent. The feather touch of Stiles’ hands landing against his chest as Stiles tried to keep his balance was a reminder that the Omega was clumsier than Ida ever was.

Ever like an Omega, Stiles submitted when pressed to.

Stiles hated himself for submitting to Peter's will. It appeared that taking orders were the one good things an Omega was useful for. Stiles’ features were feminine, but he still held a strength many Omegas attempted to stamp out at a young age. He looked, in certain light, similar to a female Alpha—similar to Ida.

But there was too much Stiles couldn’t replicate, even if he tried. He was so different to Ida.

Everyone was.

Peter was faintly surprised when Stiles pulled away from him.

Stiles held his hands out against Peter’s chest, having grown bolder in his disregard for caring if he justifiably incurred Peter’s anger. He learned that Peter would grow unsatisfied with him whether he deserved it or not.

“I’m not her,” Stiles weakly stated. He was startled with surprise at Peter’s bark of laughter.

“Who could ever mistake you for her,” Peter cruelly replied.

Stiles looked up at Peter, terrified that moving away from Peter would just make it worse. “I know you think about her.”

“Not when I’m with you,” Peter lowly stated, grabbing Stiles’ wrists as he forced his touch away in a similar fashion to their wedding night. “I wouldn’t do her memory the disservice.”

“So I’m beautiful, but not good enough for the great Alpha Hale,” Stiles bitterly countered, the warm pride he felt earlier quickly cooling to an emptiness that spoiled his stomach.

“You’re not good enough to stand where she had,” Peter snapped. “You’re a fraction of what she was.”

“And you’re half the man you used to be,” Stiles answered, bracing himself for the impact of Peter’s hand against his face.

Peter smiled, almost cruelly. “You suddenly have more fire in you tonight than you’ve had our entire marriage.” He grabbed ahold of Stiles’ dress tunic, drawing him in closer.

Stiles startled, grasping at Peter’s hand in desperation to prevent another forced coupling. He didn’t want to be in the same room as Peter, much less forced to lay still as he took his knot.

“I wondered if it was just because you can’t have children, or if it’s because your body is so pathetic it miscarries them without thinking,” Peter started as he slammed Stiles back into the wall by the fireplace, uncaring of the wounded noise that came from Stiles’ gasping. “Which of those do you think happens?” He questioned as he leaned closer.

Stiles turned his head to the side, wanting to look away from Peter. He tried to push him back, releasing a frightened huff of frustration when he felt Peter slot his knee between his thighs, forcing his legs open to him.

Peter grabbed Stiles’ face, iron like fingertips holding Stiles’ chin and forcing him to look at him. “You’d think after months of this, your body would understand what it’s supposed to do.”

Stiles knew it was useless to beg him to stop—he never stopped before, and there was no reason why tonight would be different. “Ida never gave you a child, either.”

The impact of Peter’s hand wasn’t as surprising as the disoriented jostling that followed. Stiles’ vision became blurred, twinkling stars bursting across his eyes before he could even register Peter’s hand wrapped around his throat, pinning him against the wall.

The slowness was deliberate. Peter wanted Stiles to suffer, that had been evident enough from the first day Stiles legally became his. His hand was effortlessly wrapped around Stiles’ throat, his claws tearing the smallest of holes in the Omega’s skin. He could feel the burn of his eyes flooding red.

“Even with the risks, and every person telling her it was a terrible idea,” Peter hissed, nearly lost in a blind rage as he pinned Stiles to the wall by his throat. “She still wanted a baby—our baby.”

Stiles tried to pry Peter’s hand away, knowing that it was useless, but also knowing that Peter wasn’t going to stop on his own. He hit against Peter’s chest, unable to make a sound as Peter’s hand kept a vice grip around his throat.

“She was pregnant when she died,” Peter finally stated, pressing his hand harder against Stiles’ windpipe. “More than you could ever say.”

“Peter!”

Stiles was suddenly free, gasping for air as he slid down the wall, his body completely weak from the lack of oxygen. He sputtered, wheezing as he tried to get as much air in his lungs as possible. He placed his own hand against his throat, trying to massage feeling back into his muscles. He realized it brought him reassurance that Peter was no longer choking the life from him. He dared to look up, catching sight of a familiar back turned to him, standing close enough to be his barrier of last defense against Peter.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, his voice completely calm and without a shred of guilt for what he had just done.

“What the fuck were you doing?” Derek demanded, not bothering to answer his uncle.

“Teaching him a lesson,” Peter remarked.

“You’ve lost it,” Derek snapped.

“Get out of my way, Derek,” Peter commanded.

“No,” Derek answered, not budging from his spot between Peter and Stiles.

Peter allowed the silence to grow. “Are you challenging your Alpha, Derek?” He asked in a tone filled with warning.

“No, I’m challenging my uncle,” Derek corrected him. “Who nearly murdered his Omega.”

Peter narrowed his eyes as he observed Derek. He briefly looked down at Stiles, as if he was trying to weigh the pros and cons of shoving Derek aside and finishing what was just interrupted. “That _thing_ isn’t mine,” he finally stated as he looked back at Derek. “It’s defective.”

“You’re drunk,” Derek stated, despising the way Peter spoke of Stiles.

“Doesn’t change the facts,” Peter replied. “Should kill his father for selling me defective goods.”

Stiles instinctively moved at the mention of his father.

“Go to bed, Peter,” Derek pushed, unmoving from his spot, even when he felt Stiles trying to stand.

Peter was silent as he looked down at the cross stitch in his hand. “I suppose you’re right, nephew,” he finally answered. “You’re always right.” He released a faint snort before effortlessly tossing the cross-stitch into the fire. “Just keep that thing out of my rooms,” he stated as he finally moved to leave, giving Derek his small victory.

Stiles scrambled, his body sluggish and uncoordinated from the assault. He didn’t care about the tears burning his eyes, knowing that Peter had always felt that way about him. All he could focus on was reaching his hand into the fire to retrieve his cross stitch. He whimpered when a flame’s heat burned at the back of his hand, instinctively withdrawing his hand before foolishly reaching back in for it.

Derek was the one to grab the fabric, pulling it out of the flames to stop Stiles from burning himself. He quickly removed his jacket, beating out the flames that attempted to grow with the garment. He ignored the uneasiness in his stomach as memories of the fire came rushing back to him—how small it had seemed before it consumed the entire household in minutes. He withdrew his jacket from the newly charred cross-stitch, looking down to assess the damage.

The cross-stitch was beyond saving. There was a series of holes charred through the upper middle, its edges completely singed.

Stiles sniffled some as he reached an unsteady hand out to pull the cross-stitch closer.

Derek looked at Stiles, seeing the tears collecting in his eyes as he ran his fingertips over it. “It wasn’t a gift he deserved anyways,” he offered, hoping it would cushion some of the blow.

Stiles shook his head. “Wasn’t—” He winced when he realized how raw his throat felt. “It was … for my father,” he softly answered. He shook his head. He forced himself to move, suddenly getting to his feet as he started towards the hallway. He was done. He couldn't do it anymore. He didn't want to force a smile for the public while hiding the bruises beneath his clothes.

“Where are you going?” Derek hurriedly questioned as he followed after Stiles.

“Home,” Stiles answered as he grasped a hold of his cloak, barely having it around his shoulders as he made his way outside.

“Stiles,” Derek called his name, following close behind him.

Stiles ignored Derek, but only barely made it into the stables when Derek physically stopped him.

Derek grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, forcing him to turn and look at him.

“Let me go!” Stiles demanded as hot tears angrily fell, smacking at Derek’s hands. “I'm not staying here a second longer! I want to go home!”

“This is your home now, Stiles,” Derek firmly stated, ignoring Stiles’ attempts to loosen his grip. He held steadfast, firmly keeping Stiles grounded.

“I'm going home to my father!” Stiles snapped, still trying to escape Derek’s grip.

“Your father married you off to Peter,” Derek pressed, refusing to give up his hold. “You're legally Peter’s, you can't just leave.”

“He tried to kill me,” Stiles furiously stated. “He doesn't want me here, and I'm not going to stay in his house a second longer.”

“Peter is a proud man,” Derek started. “If you left, his pride would be wounded. He would be in the right to drag you back here.”

Stiles shook his head. “My father wouldn't let that happen.”

“Peter could kill your father for going back on their deal,” Derek countered.

Stiles allowed the fight to leave him, knowing Derek was speaking the truth. He knew Peter to be petty enough—that Peter hated him enough—that killing his father was not above Peter. He shook his head in protest. “I can't— I can't do this anymore. He doesn't even want me. I just— I just want to go home to my father.”

“I'm sorry, Stiles,” Derek sadly offered.

Stiles lightly hit against Derek’s chest in protest. When he realized the Alpha wasn't going to react, he hit him again. “Let me go,” he protested, trying to get Derek to release him.

“I can't,” Derek earnestly replied, his grip on Stiles firm and unchanging.

“Then let him kill me next time,” Stiles insisted.

“Stiles—”

“You’re not saving me,” Stiles angrily snapped, glaring daggers at Derek. “I would rather be gone from here, happy for a few days at least, before he finally does away with me.”

“I’m not going to let him kill you,” Derek adamantly stated.

“That would be a kindness,” Stiles vehemently countered. “I can’t do this anymore,” he pressed in urgency, wishing Derek could see his plight. “He’s obsessed with having something he can’t have. Even if I managed to have a child, he’d still hate me. And what about the child? I’d rather die than let a monster like him be a parent.”

“It’s what he wants,” Derek uttered, knowing that Stiles was right—the man Peter had become should never be a father.

“I don’t want that,” Stiles replied, keeping control of his tears as he tried one last time to practically fling himself from Derek’s grasp. He slumped forward into Derek’s chest when he realized he was powerless to get away. “You’ll have to keep me chained up,” he defiantly uttered. “I won’t stop trying to run. I won’t stop trying to get away.”

“With the promise of a child, he will change,” Derek replied, his grip lightening when he realized Stiles wouldn’t fight him again—at least for now.

“What promise?” Stiles weakly asked, his body lax against Derek as he caved against his chest, allowing himself to bask in the warmth of Derek’s body. “He cannot have one. No one can give him a child.”

“I’ll help you,” Derek forcefully uttered.

Stiles pulled back, looking at Derek in wonder, curious if he meant it.

“He’s leaving for more than a month tomorrow,” Derek started, trying to do the math in his head. “When he comes home, you’ll have to share his bed as soon as possible—lie to him and let him think it’s premature.”

Stiles stared at Derek, knowing he was gawking at him. “You mean it,” he softly stated in disbelief. “But you said—”

“I said I didn’t want to go behind my uncle’s back,” Derek quickly explained. “But you’re right—he’s not going to stop until you have a child.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel. He was finally going to be able to have a child—to give Peter the one thing that would pacify him and his anger. But Derek was forcing himself to do something that, until now, he had detested the very idea of. “I … I’d be grateful,” he weakly uttered, feeling pathetic for forcing something like this from Derek.

“I know,” Derek weakly replied, understanding that it was the one thing that could free Stiles from Peter’s cruelty.

~*~

Stiles held onto his father, hugging him tightly. He had been waiting for such a long time to see him again, convinced that it wouldn’t happen. He refused to cry, knowing that his father would blame himself for such a reaction. He was glad that Peter had left the morning after the attack, not giving Stiles a fleeting look of acknowledgment. He had nothing to look forward to more than to see his father, and pray beyond hope that Peter wouldn’t return from his trip.

“I missed you,” John uttered, pulling back to look at Stiles.

“I missed you, too,” Stiles replied, a small smile pulling at his lips. He was grateful that his high collar hid the bruising of Peter’s hand that still lingered around his throat.

“How are you?” John asked as he took a seat on the couch.

It was strange, to Stiles, to see his father looking calm and at ease in the same room that Peter—not even a week ago—had nearly choked the life from Stiles.

“As well as can be expected,” Stiles offered, taking a seat neat his father. He itched to ask his father if he could come home—if there was something to be done about the contract John had signed with Peter.

“You don’t seem sincere,” John noted, carefully evaluating his son’s response.

“It’s … difficult, adjusting to a new lifestyle,” Stiles offered. “I’m not used to having a husband.”

John frowned at that. “Does Peter expect more of you than he should?”

Stiles wanted to cry in response. If only his father knew what impossible loops Peter wanted him to jump through in order to please him. “It feels that way,” he strategically answered.

“Could I speak to him about it?” John asked, wishing his son would just tell him the dilemma.

“He would find it rude,” Stiles replied. “He doesn’t like it when other’s concern themselves with his affairs.”

“Very well,” John hesitantly receded.

The hours passed too quickly for Stiles’ liking. He had wished his father could stay indefinitely. He missed how it felt to be cherished, unconditionally. He had been hesitating to ask his father, but knew he had to question it.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Stiles started, looking up at his father as John turned to look at him. “It’s about the contract you signed with Peter.”

John carefully observed his son. “Okay,” he answered, taking a step closer to Stiles, sensing his son’s anxiety.

Stiles rang his hands, hiding them behind his back as his fingers picking at the skin around his fingernails. He knew he could cause more damage to himself, like he did when he was younger. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath. “Why did you choose Peter?” He asked as he looked up at his father.

John looked surprised by the question. “What brought this question on?”

Stiles sighed. “I know he must have bid a great deal—the most,” he pushed. “I understand that aspect of Omega contracts, dad.”

“He didn’t have the highest bid,” John corrected Stiles.

Stiles looked at his father in shock.

“Deucalion had bid the highest,” John continued in admittance.

Stiles paled some. He didn’t know what was worse, being bound to an Alpha who kept up the appearance of being respectable, or to an Alpha who didn’t care what people thought of him or his cruelty.

“I chose Peter’s bid because the Hales were a kind pack,” John explained. “Before the fire, Talia was the one who championed for Omega rights.” He released a heavy sigh. “I didn’t make the choice lightly, Stiles. I want you to know that. I chose Peter … because he was the one I thought would treat you the best.” His gaze scanned Stiles as the silence prolonged between them. “I had hoped that his marriage to you would keep in tone with what the pack used to be—that you could be a part of it.”

Something tightened in Stiles’ chest, a heaviness that he couldn’t recognize. He wanted to cry, to confess to his father that he was miserable—that the man John thought Peter to be was in fact a lie.

John reached a hand out, gently touching Stiles’ shoulder. He pulled his son in close, hugging him tightly. “You’re … you’re okay, right?” He softly asked, wanting to know that Stiles was doing better than he had feared.

“I’m fine,” Stiles hollowly stated, hugging onto his father tightly. It hurt to lie to his father, but he knew telling him the truth wouldn’t do either of them any good. He knew that neither could do a thing now, and Peter would be even more furious if he discovered that Stiles told anyone about his mistreatment.

~*~

Stiles carefully dried his body off, his nerves electrified as he tried to retain a semblance of calm. He had elected to take a bath before Derek decided to retire for the night. He was terrified ever since Peter left that Derek would abandon him. He knew Derek had agreed to it—even reassured him that they would proceed as planned. But part of him feared Derek coming to his senses. He felt selfish for thinking in such a way.

Stiles caught sight of himself in the mirror, pausing his movements. He inspected his skin, frowning at how many moles were visible, even with the towel covering a good portion of his body. He dared to lower the towel a little, taking in the sight of his narrow hips and gangly legs. He wondered how Derek would manage to stomach touching him, let alone knotting him.

Stiles grabbed at his nightshirt, pulling it on over his head and buttoning it quickly. He slipped into his dressing gown, fingers trembling as he tied the sash. He drew in a steady breath, knowing that there was no going back after tonight.

Stiles kept his head down as he made his way quietly through the hallways, down to where he knew Derek’s room was. He had wondered if a guest room would be smarter, until Stiles remembered that Peter visited the guest rooms often in his trysts with visiting Alphas. He took a deep breath when he reached Derek’s bedroom, staring at the door. His stomach was unsteady, knowing that he was betraying everyone by going through with this. He would betray his marriage vows, his Alpha, his own principles, Derek. The list was endless in Stiles’ mind.

Stiles startled when the door opened without him having to knock. He stared at Derek, not knowing what to say or how to act. It was all new to him, and he wondered if it was new to Derek. He looked at Derek’s appearance, surprised to find that Derek wasn’t prepared for bed, his riding breeches and boots still on from earlier.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles uttered, keeping his distance from Derek. “I could come back later—”

“It’s fine,” Derek answered, moving to give Stiles enough room to enter.

Stiles faintly nodded, quickly entering the bedroom before either of them could change their minds. He fell a few steps short of the bed, his eyes staring down at the pristine looking sheets. “I didn’t know if you were ready or … I’m sorry for this.”

“Don’t be,” Derek replied as he shut the door. “I offered to help,” he answered.

Stiles remained silent as he nervously watched Derek move over to the armchair to sit and remove his boots. He decided to take in the room around him, keeping his eyes from staring at Derek for too long.

The room was simple for a lord. Nothing extravagant decorated the walls, no picture frames to even give the room a slight touch of character. The bed was gracious for a single person, suggesting that it was originally intended for a couple. It wasn’t, however, as big as Peter’s bed—Stiles was sometimes unable to even feel Peter’s warmth from across the vastness of that bed.

Thoughts of how Derek would have been as a husband suddenly began to creep into Stiles’ mind once more. It wasn’t the first time Stiles thought of Derek in such a way, and he felt guilty for those thoughts every time. Stiles had been happy at first, wondering how Derek would treat him when he first assumed that Derek was the man he would marry. How foolish and naïve he was to assume such a thing.

Stiles turned back to look at Derek when he heard the thump of Derek’s boots being discarded. He watched Derek from his distant spot, curious as to why Derek hadn’t taken a spouse yet. He was curious why someone like Derek would be denied anyone of his choice.

Derek made an appealing match to anyone in high society. He came from a family of significant standing and wealth. His pursuit of education was commendable, displaying his desire to better himself and his potential future holdings. Above everything, he was kind and gentle in his treatment of others despite his initial reclusiveness.

And he was handsome.

Stiles envied the person who caught Derek’s eye enough to turn his head.

A silence drew on throughout the room, nothing disturbing it besides the continuous crackle of the fire burning away in the fireplace. It felt awkward for Stiles to stand there and wait for Derek to finish undressing, leaving Stiles to wonder if he should have waited to be retrieved by Derek—if he had overstepped bounds by assuming he could seek out Derek.

Derek moved to stand, pulling his shirt up over his head, easily discarding the piece of clothing onto the chair beside him.

Stiles’ heart was erratically beating as anxiety laced with excitement flooded his senses. He tried to not stare at Derek, but he never before saw an Alpha that looked like him. He wondered why Derek still listened to Peter—why an Alpha as strong and beautiful as Derek obeyed a man who had nothing to offer other than another member of the pack. In the end, he knew Derek to be fiercely loyal, and he admired him for it.

Stiles looked up when Derek took a step towards him, bared chest and all. He allowed his hands to fall to his sides.

Stiles let Derek pull at the ties of his dressing gown, looking down and watching Derek’s fingers make easy work of the simple bow that held the garment around his body. He drew in a sharp breath as he watched Derek’s hands press open the gown. He shrugged his shoulders out of the material, allowing the gown to fall from his body. He tried not to blush as he watched Derek’s hands catch the gown before easily discarding it onto the armchair behind him. He looked up at Derek in uncertainty, wondering if he was supposed to do something, only to find Derek’s eyes roaming his body, searching for a place to begin.

Stiles pulled away from Derek, gathering the material of his nightshirt in his hands, knowing he should discard the garment as he had done every time Peter commanded him onto the bed. He hesitated, his reflection in the mirror burned into his mind from earlier—the look of disinterest Peter gave him before flipping him over every time. He couldn’t bring himself to disrobe entirely in front of Derek, knowing that the sight of his bared body would likely repel Derek into recanting his previous vow to help.

Stiles bowed his head, avoiding looking at Derek as he gathered the shirt up over his thighs, barely covering himself with little modesty. He turned to the bed, keeping his back to Derek as he climbed onto the soft mattress. Shame welled in his chest as he pulled the shirt up over his ass, allowing the material to rest around his waist. His face burned in embarrassment as he waited for Derek to, for lack of a better word, mount him as Peter always had.

Derek slowly climbed onto the bed behind Stiles, his hand delicately touching Stiles. His hand was gentle as he touched Stiles’ hips, carefully moving to situate them appropriately. He listened to Stiles’ heartbeat, making sure to keep a conscious mind on anything that caused Stiles distress.

Stiles tried to calm his breathing, closing his eyes as he laid his head against the bed. He arched his back, presenting himself at a better angle for Derek. He gently bit his lip when he heard Derek’s soft intake of breath.

It was different than all the times Peter took Stiles.

Derek was calmer, gentler in his touch and obvious in his concern for Stiles. He patiently waited for Stiles’ body to ease against him, his body moving with Stiles in a calm rhythm that allowed a mutual pleasure to build.

Stiles felt off, different than every time Peter touched him. A foreign heat pooled in his stomach and spine, a tingling that hinted at something building to a crescendo. He was partially scared, wondering if his body knew he was doing something wrong. A startled gasp escaped his lungs when he felt his cock brush against the sheets, a spark of strange pleasure shooting through his body. He was confused by it all, never before knowing what it meant to be treated in such a gentle way, how it could all lead to his body reacting in such a way.

The pressure Stiles felt growing inside him was the telltale sign of a knot growing. He widened his legs, spreading himself out further to give Derek more room. The movement changed the angle of Derek’s thrusts, making a liquid fire spark in Stiles’ body when Derek pressed against an unknown spot inside him. He couldn’t stop himself from trembling when Derek’s knot took, his hips involuntarily undulating in an attempt to draw Derek in closer.

Derek tried to catch his breath, never before knowing what it meant to feel such wild pleasure. It felt right, being inside Stiles and holding him close. He weakly reached his arm around Stiles’ waist, easing them both down onto the bed in order to rest on their sides. He couldn’t stop himself from nuzzling against the curve between Stiles’ shoulder blades.

Stiles didn’t know what to do with his hands, trying to find a place to leave them to not disturb Derek. He kept his breathing calm, his eyes looking down at his lower half. He saw the way his cock was still aroused, unsure how to hide the fact from Derek. This never happened whenever Peter touched him. Something was different— _Derek_ was different. He used his shirt to cover himself, hoping that Derek wouldn’t notice.

Time passed slowly, but wasn’t as nearly unbearable as the time spent laying in bed, waiting for Peter to roll away from him. Stiles felt a tiredness fall over him, a faint sense of belonging hitting him. He never before felt as tired nor as sated as he did now. He didn’t want to leave Derek’s bed, the faint lull of sleep falling over him.

Derek kept his arm around Stiles’ waist, his face pressed into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder. He gently brushed his beard against Stiles’ exposed skin. It was intimate, more so than Derek should have dared to act on. But he needed the intimacy—the closeness that pulled him towards Stiles.

Stiles stirred awake when Derek pulled out of him, the movement causing his body to turn from the shifting of weight. He turned his head to look at Derek, watching him sit up. He saw the trace of scars running down the side of Derek’s chest, curling up around his arm. He turned his head away, knowing that he shouldn’t be looking at Derek in such a manner.

Derek hesitated, noticing how limp and unmoving Stiles was now that they weren’t touching. He shifted his body some, turning his sight towards Stiles’ lower body. He gently touched Stiles’ hip, shifting the Omega appropriately in order to look for any harm he might have inflicted.

Stiles tensed, his body practically clamming up as he turned his body away from Derek. “What are you doing?” He faintly asked, a nervousness in his voice. He pulled down on his shirt, covering up his body to keep Derek from seeing anything further.

“I’m making sure I didn’t hurt you,” Derek answered, shifting his weight as he leaned against the mattress and away from Stiles.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, realizing that he had no other excuse than the one that was running through his mind: Peter never checked him, so why would Derek? “There’s no need to,” he weakly stated instead. He clutched his nightshirt around his body as he slipped off the bed. His legs were weak, causing him to stumble some as he moved too quickly. He abruptly bumped into the chair by the fireplace as he grabbed for his dressing gown. He felt vulnerable, knowing that he’d never again be touched or held in such a manner—that Derek would never touch him again.

“Stiles,” Derek softly uttered his name, getting up from the bed. He grabbed his discarded trousers, quickly slipping them on when he realized Stiles was scrambling to flee.

Stiles had the sash of his dressing gown tied, the buttons forgotten in his rush. He turned to flee, hoping to avoid Derek for the remainder of his time spent at the estate. He was startled when Derek was standing, blocking his way to the door.

“Stiles, if a line was crossed—”

“I apologize,” Stiles uttered as he hugged his arms around his stomach. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to this.”

Derek was silent as he observed Stiles.

“I’m sorry. Please, let us just forget that this happened,” Stiles quickly pressed, sidestepping Derek and rushing passed him.

Derek itched to chase after Stiles, wanting him to know the truth. “I don’t want to,” he announced to the quiet room. His stomach twisted, the reality of the situation sinking deep into his gut.

It wasn’t that he adored an Omega that wasn’t his own, nor that he even desired an Omega he could never have. He loved _Stiles_ , fully knowing that the thought alone was sacrificing what was left of his wounded pride and fragile loyalty he still clung to Peter.

~*~

Stiles tried to forget the soft touch of Derek’s hands on his hips, the way the Alpha’s breath caught when he pressed into him. He spent countless hours tracing the faint bruise on the curve of his hip, the only reminder that Derek had touched him.

Stiles was glad that Derek left before Peter returned, making it easier to roam the house instead of cautiously looking around every corner. He wanted to forget how much he enjoyed his time with Derek, knowing that it would never happen again. He spent his time away from the library and the books he had been losing himself in—he knew the romance was fictional, that reality would set in once Peter returned. He walked the grounds, trying to plan out how he’d play into his child’s life, hoping Peter would let him see to the child’s needs—both academic and recreational. Part of him hoped that he would have twins, wishing to have as big a family as possible from this one opportunity. He pressed his hand to his abdomen, wondering when he would be able to tell that it had worked—when he could tell Peter.

As with everything, Deaton ruined the little hope Stiles had.

“I’m sorry,” Deaton calmly spoke, carefully observing Stiles.

Stiles was staring out the window at the garden, now unable to see the hopeful future he had been dreaming of days earlier. “Peter was right then,” he faintly uttered, his hand mindlessly touching his stomach. His thumb brushed against his navel, wondering why no one had ever bothered to teach him what to do if his one purpose happened to be proven hopelessly impossible.

“Not necessarily,” Deaton offered.

“You said that it would only take one time,” Stiles hollowly stated. “But one time happened, and still nothing.” He turned to look at Deaton, angry tears burning his eyes, a feeling of betrayal lurching up in his chest. “What about that means that Peter wasn’t _necessarily_ right?”

Deaton remained infuriatingly calm as he replied, “If you could try again—”

“No,” Stiles stated, turning away from Deaton. “I won’t ask him to go through that again.”

Deaton faintly nodded. “Your decision to make,” he replied.

Stiles closed his eyes, trying to think how he would proceed—how to quell Peter’s anger this time.

~*~

Stiles made his way outside when he heard the servants making a fuss about not being prepared for Peter’s return, the Alpha cutting his trip short by more than a week. He was calm as he approached the carriage in the stables, interested in the look of surprise Peter gave him upon seeing him.

“You came out to see me,” Peter commented as he descended from the carriage, handing his briefcase to Isaac as Boyd saw to the horses.

“I thought something pressing must have hurried your return,” Stiles offered, afraid that Peter would be able to tell that he allowed another to touch him. “I wanted to welcome you home,” he added, hoping it didn’t appear out of place. He ignored the cautious look Boyd gave him from overtop of the horse’s saddle.

Peter carefully observed Stiles, clearly unwilling to blindly believe Stiles’ suddenly warm nature towards him. He remembered the last time Stiles attempted to engage him in such a way—it had been the same night Stiles discovered Peter’s affairs.

“Am I not allowed to do that?” Stiles pressed, feigning ignorance of Peter’s caution.

“I suppose it’s fitting,” Peter replied, moving towards the back of the carriage where the rest of his luggage had been securely fastened. “The first time I bring you back a gift, and you’re here to receive me like an Omega should.”

Stiles faltered some, confused by Peter’s comment. “A gift?” He questioned, moving to peer over Peter’s shoulder as he tried to see what he was doing.

“Typically, when you purchase a product for another person without thought of compensation, that would be the definition of a gift,” Peter replied, his voice light as he rummaged through his things.

Stiles was unfamiliar with the sudden lightness in his chest. He recalled that he had a similar feeling when Derek presented him with the book. He thought it strange that Peter suddenly decided that he was worthy of a gift, but part of him hoped that things had finally changed.

Stiles felt foolish, in the end.

Peter turned to look at Stiles, not understanding Stiles’ initially intrigued features. He offered out the bag in his hand, unceremonious in the way he dropped it into Stiles’ hand.

Stiles gathered the cloth bag in his hand, quickly pulling apart the drawstrings as he excitedly peered inside. His stomach sank some when he saw the loosely bagged tea leaves nestled safely inside. He looked at Peter, wishing he would at least offer him a smug look, something that said Stiles’ expected sacrifice would be appreciated.

“A merchant I stayed with a few weeks ago was kind enough to offer it,” Peter explained, his gaze cold and uncaring at he watched Stiles weakly closing the bag back up. “There are more than one type of tea that Omegas use to enhance their heats—this one was his Omega’s favorite—working on their fourth pup now.”

Stiles dug his fingernails into the bag, wanting to scream at Peter that it wouldn’t work—that neither of them were meant to have a child. “I shouldn’t take this,” he started, recalling Deaton’s words of warning.

“If it worked for one Omega, it should be just as good for you,” Peter lowly stated, his gaze critical of Stiles’ reluctance.

“I haven’t had my real heat,” Stiles countered, looking at Peter. He nearly flinched at the hidden anger he saw there. He knew Peter saw it all as one excuse after another—not as valid reasons. “Deaton said …” He knew he wasn’t getting anywhere when Peter rolled his eyes. He looked down at the bag, knowing that he could cause irreversible damage—that he passed out more than once from dehydration last time, and there was no telling how this tea would affect him. “Then again, Deaton says a lot these days, doesn’t he?” He quietly started, forcing himself to look up at Peter. “When do you want me to take it? Tonight—or would you rather rest first?”

Peter almost seemed pleased by Stiles’ sudden act of submissiveness. “Tonight would be good,” he answered.

Stiles nodded, moving to take his leave. “I’ll have Erica prepare a bath—for you to relax until then.” He knew Erica was going to be furious with him, that perhaps she may even snatch the tea away from him.

~*~

Stiles’ whole body was on fire as he squirmed under the sheets. He was naked, his dampened nightshirt long since discarded after the first couple of times Peter knotted him, managing to keep him from wiggling away. He had clawed at the bed, his body rejecting Peter’s touch, desperate to have Derek’s instead. His primal instincts were screaming at him that Peter was wrong, begging for a younger, stronger Alpha—the one that could give him a child, even with his still lingering doubts about his own ability to conceive anyone’s child.

Peter had long since turned his back on Stiles’ needy whines, his own body tired of having to see to Stiles. He was sleeping on his back, actually allowing the heat drunk Stiles to catch a glimpse of the burns scarring the front half of his body. He had rolled away from Stiles the moment his knot slipped free, glad to be parted from the inconsolable Omega.

Stiles turned to look at Peter, reaching his hand out to touch him. “Alpha,” he called out, taking a deep breath as he struggled with his oncoming wave. “Peter,” he weakly begged, his hand touching Peter’s chest. The part of his mind that hadn’t been heat riddled screamed at him to withdraw his hand from Peter, but he didn’t care. He needed an Alpha, and Peter was the one locked away in the room with him.

Stiles sat up, ignoring the way his head spun. His chest was burning with a thirst for water, but he ignored it, powering through his pain. He shuffled his weight, moving to straddle Peter’s hips with as little struggle as possible. He hesitated, avoiding touching Peter any more than he had to. His whole body trembled with the uncertainty and fear of Peter’s potential anger. But his body ached with need—the want for intimacy and tenderness that he had been denied previously. He felt as if he’d die without it, the tea working hard to mimic what a heat should be.

Relief fell through Stiles’ body the moment he was situated, nestled in Peter’s lap. He worked up a steady rhythm, closing his eyes as he tried to stop the guilt welling up in his stomach. He knew he was wrong for taking what he needed, but he was scared what his body would do—what the tea would make him do—if he didn’t have an Alpha’s touch. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the familiar tug of Peter’s knot, a sense of rightness hitting him.

And then Stiles heard Peter’s voice, accompanied by the softest touch of the Alpha’s hands on his hips. He nearly startled at the unfamiliar tenderness, his rhythm faltering some. Shame burned his skin when he heard the barely audible sigh of a name leaving Peter’s lips.

“Ida.”

In that moment, Stiles knew what it was like to be wanted, even if he was being mistaken for another. As if he was commanded to do so, Stiles grasped at Peter’s hands, removing them from his hips, forcing them to travel his body. He wasn’t sure why he did it, perhaps a selfish need drove him to do it—to demand that Peter realized that his body wasn’t the softly curved body of his deceased wife. He saw the moment Peter realized the difference—the second the Alpha’s brain registered that his body was copulating with the Omega he begrudgingly called his own.

Peter’s reaction was fast, the fury hidden behind a seemingly calm face. It was worse, Stiles thought, when Peter hid his anger behind an uncaring face. Peter shoved Stiles off of him, mere moments before his knot successfully took. He retrieved his trousers, pulling them on with ease before turning his attention to Stiles.

Stiles had fallen off the bed, his balance thrown when Peter roughly shoved him to the side. He tried to catch his breath, his body burning with anger that it was denied. He barely reacted when Peter grabbed his arm, yanking him up off of the floor.

“What did you think you were doing?” Peter demanded an answer.

“What you asked me to,” Stiles replied, hating how he still wanted Peter to touch him, even after the obvious rejection. “You wanted this.”

“I wanted your body to do its job and give me an heir, _not_ touch me,” Peter growled, his eyes bleeding red.

“Heats don’t make Omegas more fertile,” Stiles snapped, unsure where he had gotten such venom. He found himself wishing that he had the strength to claw Peter’s eyes out. “Deaton told you that—he told you that it dulls my pain receptors, that’s all. But you wouldn’t listen—you never listen!”

Peter easily applied more pressure to his hold on Stiles’ forearm, pettily jerking his wrist enough until he felt the snap of bone.

Stiles wasn’t sure what was worse: not feeling his own bone break, or knowing that Peter found a joy in it. He grabbed at Peter’s arm to stop him from doing more damage, feeling the tears burn his eyes as he refused to plead with Peter.

“You won’t feel that until the tea passes from your system. See? I listen,” Peter cruelly stated.

Stiles swung at Peter with his good arm, hitting him in the chest, not caring anymore. “Let me go,” he vehemently stated, hopelessly hitting him in an attempt to get free.

Peter wordlessly shoved him backwards, not caring as he watched Stiles stumble and collide with the dresser. He observed Stiles falling to the ground, watching Stiles weakly trying to sit up without putting weight on his broken arm.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Stiles stated, turning a glare on Peter.

“That would be a waste of an investment,” Peter honestly replied.

“Then find someone who looks enough like Ida that it’s not hard for you to pretend,” Stiles harshly stated.

Peter’s glower intensified. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You thought I was Ida,” Stiles pushed, hoping that Peter would grow angry enough that he’d just put an end to his suffering.

“I would never make that mistake,” Peter countered.

“You did,” Stiles taunted as he stood up, for the first time not caring enough to be afraid of Peter. “You whispered her name as you fucked up into me.”

Peter remained silent as he glared at Stiles, not moving from his spot.

“It took you realizing I didn’t have breasts to wake up from your dream,” Stiles pressed, knowing that any second Peter would snap, and hopefully finish what he had started the night Derek interrupted by the fireplace—only this time, Derek wasn’t here to stop Peter.

“Maybe the truth hurts a little bit more, Peter,” Stiles started, cradling his arm against his chest. “Maybe you’re not meant to be a father—and I’m not meant to give you a child.”

The force of Peter’s blow caused Stiles to stumble backwards. Stiles lost his balance, falling to the side. His head hit the corner of the vanity. He could barely make out Peter’s retreating form as he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex scenes:
> 
> The first is between Stiles and Derek. It doesn't have a great amount of detail, and contains dubious consent because they both think the other is only engaging in sex due to obligation, opposed to truly wanting each other (spoiler: they both really want each other).
> 
> The second is between Stiles and Peter. Stiles has a pseudo-heat, and copulates with Peter. There is some description, but it is not as detailed as sex scenes in my other fics.
> 
> Physical abuse:
> 
> Peter chokes Stiles in an intoxicated rage. Then, during Stiles' pseudo-heat, he breaks Stiles' arm before hitting him hard enough to make him fall and hit his head on a piece of furniture. Instead of getting help, Peter just leaves Stiles there.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this new chapter, darlings.
> 
> Peter left for his traveling. Derek finally comes home for vacation, and Stiles deserves to have something nice for once.
> 
> Sexual content occurs, more in the notes at the end of the chapter.

Derek had been hesitant to return home, knowing that the awkwardness would be present when seeing Stiles for the first time since their night together. He took his time heading back to the estate, slowing his horse to a leisurely trot as he headed down the dirt path. He wasn’t surprised by the slow nature of things around the estate, knowing that the servants took a much-deserved break once Peter had left.

The servants adored Stiles, taking a liking to him almost immediately. The Omega was kind, unlike Peter. He had been different in comparison to how the servants expected him to be. Most Omegas would have paraded into the estate, acting as if they were deserving in anything they desired, with little regard to who it affected. Stiles was affectionate in getting to know the servants, asking them questions about their lives, even going as far as to ask them to join him in leisure. He was happy to get to know people, priding himself in bringing people together. He had a peculiar way of looking at the world, strangely enthusiastic despite his sarcasm. As much as Stiles played by the rules of society, he was a free spirit underneath it all.

Derek was surprised when Boyd didn’t greet him as normal, watching as the Beta kept his head down when Derek tried to engage him in conversation. “Peter isn’t still here, is he?” He asked, knowing he hit some nerve when Boyd immediately looked at him.

“No,” Boyd offered, taking the reins from Derek’s hand in order to lead the horse into the stables.

“Then why is it so quiet?” Derek asked, idly pulling his riding gloves off.

“I’m not sure if I’m the one to answer that,” Boyd offered as he saw to Derek’s horse.

“Boyd,” Derek calmly addressed his friend, eyes carefully watching him. He waited until Boyd looked him in the eye. “What happened?” He cautiously asked, his mind jumping to conclusions of what his uncle could have possibly done to cause such a silence.

“I’m not sure I’m the one to tell you that, Derek,” Boyd restated as he looked at Derek.

Derek turned to look at the estate, his eyes scanning the grounds. He quickly made his way towards the house, his steps faltering briefly as he thought of running to the family graveyard—a small prayer leaving him that his uncle didn’t commit the unspeakable. He didn’t wait for a servant to greet him, pushing the door open as he walked into the house, startling one of the servants with his rushing.

“Master Derek,” a faint voice addressed him in surprise.

Derek turned to see Eliza, his old nanny, looking at him with concern in her eyes. “Where is everyone?” He didn’t dare to ask where Stiles was.

“The servants have been busying themselves with simple tasks, my lord,” Eliza explained, shuffling her hold on the basket. “Erica is trying to prepare something to entice Master Stiles to eat,” she added as if she knew Derek’s point of inquiring was to discover information about Stiles.

“Is Stiles not feeling well?” Derek asked, curious why the staff wasn’t more ecstatic about the happy news Peter likely announced the moment he heard it.

Eliza frowned. “Deaton was just sent for,” she explained. “Even though he’s healing as nicely as can be expected, we wanted to make sure he’s well.”

“Healing?” Derek questioned.

“He had … a _fall_ , as Alpha Hale explained it,” Eliza answered, her tone clipped with distaste for the words. She released a small sigh, looking at Derek once more. “The young lord is resting in the library, should you like to speak to him about it.” She left Derek in the hallway with nothing more than those words.

Derek knew Eliza wasn’t willing to part with any secret Stiles may have allowed her privy knowledge to. He made his way down the hallway, towards the library. He pretended to not see the way the different servants avoided looking at him, keeping their gaze downcast. He was silent when entering the library, catching sight of a disheartened Erica taking a step back from the armchair with a tray of food in her hands.

Erica looked hopeful when she turned to find Derek standing by the library entrance. She placed the tray of food on the table by the armchair, hesitating before taking her leave. She gave a small bow of her head to Derek before she left the room.

Derek was silent as he approached the armchair, his gaze looking at the tray of food. He recognized the bowl as Erica’s signature soup, a mixture of chicken and vegetables. He stood by the tray, his eyes catching sight of Stiles. He could see the back of Stiles’ head—his hair in slight disarray as he cuddled up underneath the blanket wrapped around him.

Stiles had a book sitting in his lap, unable to concentrate on the page in front of him as his thoughts remained preoccupied with how to handle Peter’s inevitable return.

“I heard you’re unwell,” Derek stated, wincing slightly when Stiles startled at the sound of his voice.

Stiles turned to look at Derek, quickly looking away from him when he remembered the state of his face. “I didn’t know you’d be back,” he uttered, clasping a hold on the book in his lap.

“What happened?” Derek asked, having seen the bruise surrounding Stiles’ eye.

“Nothing new,” Stiles offered, refusing to look at Derek. He turned his head once more when Derek walked out in front of him.

“Then look at me,” Derek pressed, standing his ground in front of Stiles as he waited.

Stiles drew in an unsteady breath, finally looking up at Derek.

Derek clenched his hand shut, his claws digging down into the skin of his palm.

“I provoked him,” Stiles offered, slightly ashamed of the way Derek was staring at him.

“No provocation is a justifiable explanation for harming you, Stiles,” Derek replied as he kept his distance.

“I told him that he’d never be a parent—that he shouldn’t be one,” Stiles answered. “I knew he’d be angry about it. But I said it to hurt him.”

“He did this to you, and you’re making excuses for him,” Derek countered.

Stiles looked at Derek in surprise. He opened his mouth to reply before turning his head away. “Why are you here?” He asked instead.

“My semester is over,” Derek replied, carefully watching Stiles. “I came home, expecting an excitement to be buzzing about the estate. Instead, I find people unwilling to look me in the eye.”

Stiles turned a glare at Derek. “I’m sorry if that bothers you,” he stated. “I’m sorry that we aren’t jumping at the opportunity to welcome the young Lord Hale home.”

A sharp knock at the door wasn’t enough to pull Derek’s attentions away from Stiles as they stared at each other in silence.

“I didn’t expect to be called back so soon,” Deaton’s voice announced his addition to the room. “But when Isaac came galloping up to my door, I knew there must have been a reason why I’ve been called back to the Hale estate.” He came to a stop by Stiles’ armchair, his eyes focused on Derek. “You’re here for your vacation, aren’t you?” Nothing Deaton said sounded like a question—as if the man knew the answer to his own musings.

“For over a month,” Derek answered, his eyes still locked with Stiles’.

“Good,” Deaton stated, moving to stand beside Derek in order to gain a better look at Stiles. He stiffened when he saw the Omega.

Stiles finally looked away from Derek, looking at Deaton.

“My dear child,” Deaton partially sighed. “Where to begin,” he uttered.

Derek was silent as he watched Deaton inspect Stiles’ face and head. He shuffled to the side some, trying to keep sight on the way Deaton touched Stiles, critical of Deaton for every moment he made Stiles wince with pain.

“It’s broken, but healing correctly,” Deaton commented as he allowed Stiles’ arm to rest once more.

“You said he’d be different,” Derek suddenly started, his anger was obvious as he glared at Deaton. “You said that Peter would stop mistreating him if—”

“You did your part, Derek,” Stiles immediately stated, not wanting the conversation to continue. “Just leave it alone.”

“How can I?” Derek nearly snapped. “What if you miscarry because of this? Or the next time he loses it?”

Deaton looked at Derek, realization dawning his features.

“That won’t happen,” Stiles weakly stated, looking away from both men.

Derek wanted to argue—to yell at Stiles for acting so foolish.

“He’s not with child,” Deaton plainly stated, as if his words were to take pity on Derek’s obliviousness.

Derek turned his attention back to Stiles, looking at him in hopes that the Omega would correct Deaton. His stomach twisted when he realized that Stiles’ unwillingness to look at him was a glaring confirmation that Deaton spoke the truth. “But …” he looked at Deaton. “Once should have been enough,” he repeated Deaton’s words, daring the healer to challenge him.

Deaton was calm in his observation of both Derek and Stiles. “Depending on which circle of society you choose to listen to, an Omega’s value can be exaggerated as either high or low, there is really no in between. But an Omega’s biology is more remarkable than anything else. Their biology works on a level that is far different from an Alpha’s or a Beta’s.”

“Meaning?” Derek pressed, annoyed that Deaton was treating them as school children incapable of self-thought.

“An Omega’s body will not take with child if the Omega, on a subconscious level, knows the environment to be hostile,” Deaton finally elaborated. “An Omega’s body won’t copulate without a strong, protective force surrounding them—which is why an Alpha’s natural instincts drives them to protect.”

Stiles looked at Deaton in uncertainty.

“Even if Peter was fertile enough to reproduce, your body would reject him,” Deaton explained. “That’s why the tea didn’t work the first time … or this time,” he added.

Derek looked at Stiles in surprise. “You took it again?”

“He brought it home from his trip,” Stiles answered, looking down at the book he still held in his lap. “He said it was a gift. I … I didn’t want to upset him.”

“Stiles, you can’t drink anything like that again,” Deaton stated before Derek could utter a word. “Your heat will come on its own.”

“Next time, Peter may not be so kind as to allow me the illusion of choice,” Stiles replied.

Deaton sighed, a frown pulling at his features. “I’m not sure what to tell you, then.”

“What would it take?” Derek asked Deaton.

“An Omega’s heat is unpredictable,” Deaton replied. “Especially in a young Omega that hasn’t had one yet.”

Derek shook his head. “What would it take to get pregnant?”

Stiles looked at Derek in surprised uncertainty.

“Isolation from Peter is a start,” Deaton offered, understanding that Derek was referring to what he himself could do to help Stiles. “Copulating more than once would be ideal. Spending time with each other—making him feel safe.”

Derek looked at Stiles, catching the way the Omega turned his gaze elsewhere. It was hard to admit that they had made a mistake in their botched attempt to conceive a child in secret. His yearning for Stiles was as strong as it was before. He knew that he couldn’t keep these feelings hidden for long.

Derek waited until Deaton left before he moved to kneel beside Stiles. He hoped his proximity wouldn’t hurt Stiles more. If they were going to go through with this, they’d both have to accept being close.

“I’m sorry,” Derek started, his voice soft against the silent echo in the library.

Stiles looked at Derek, his eyebrows furrowed in hesitation.

“I should have made you stay that night,” Derek explained. “I knew you felt anxious about the whole thing, and instead of talking about it, we let our embarrassment get the better of us.”

Stiles faintly nodded.

Derek reached a steady hand out to touch Stiles’ arm. “We don’t have to try anything, Stiles. Whether you want to try this is entirely up to you.”

Stiles released a breath. “The only reason this is happening is because of Peter.”

Derek frowned. “I know,” he uttered.

“I don’t want to force you into doing something like this,” Stiles replied.

“You’re not forcing me,” Derek countered.

Stiles looked away from Derek. He looked down at his book, turning it over in his hands. “Can we just agree to keep from planning it out?” He questioned, trying to formulate the correct words. “If something happens, then it happens.”

Derek observed Stiles, his eyes falling to the book in Stiles’ lap. He recognized the book as the one he gave Stiles earlier. “Let it unfold naturally,” he offered.

“I think it would help,” Stiles offered. He felt guilty for wanting such a thing. He knew that he didn’t deserve that from Derek.

“I’d gladly spend time with you, Stiles,” Derek answered. He reached out, taking Stiles’ hand in his own. He held onto Stiles’ hand in reassurance.

Stiles wished he could have believed it—that Derek could be his, and he could be Derek’s. He hated the reality of it being far from the truth.

~*~

“I’m not sure what to talk about,” Stiles admitted to the growing silence between them.

Derek looked away from the window to turn his attentions towards Stiles. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he offered. They had both taken to sitting in the same room during the waking hours of the day, attempting to keep each other company.

“I want to,” Stiles corrected Derek, a soft sigh leaving his chest. “I just don’t know how to converse well with Alphas.”

Derek arched his eyebrow at Stiles.

Stiles blinked at Derek.

“Alphas are the same as everyone else,” Derek offered in explanation.

Stiles snorted. “Says the Alpha.”

Derek was surprised by Stiles’ challenge. “What does that mean?” He invited Stiles to elaborate his comment.

Stiles looked a little startled by Derek’s suggestion before he cleared his throat to speak. “You’ve never had to converse with someone that is higher than you in society’s hierarchy.”

“I converse with my uncle all the time,” Derek offered.

“Peter doesn’t count,” Stiles replied. “He wasn’t always your pack Alpha, and you had an established relationship with him before he assumed that role. You grew up in society’s perfect checkbox. You’re a male Alpha born to a great pack, and you hold a title of aristocracy.”

Derek marveled at Stiles’ observation. It was his turn to clear his throat, trying to find his voice. “And what about you? Is this the part where you tell me you’re the unprivileged?”

Stiles knew Derek’s words held no venom or accusation in them, only a faint curiosity to learn of Stiles’ opinions. “I was told of my privilege the moment I could understand what it meant to be an Omega in our society. I know I hold a value because of that romanticized idea that I’m to be treasured as a trophy of power and strength for any Alpha that could claim me as their mate.” He paused, remembering how foolish he had been in thinking there could be a shred of romance littered throughout his current arrangement. “But I simply ask that you look at me now, and tell me what you think. Do you believe an Omega has the luxury to test an Alpha’s patience with our simple thoughts and foolish opinions of the world?”

“No,” Derek simply answered. “But I find it relieving that you trust me enough to voice that opinion.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, running his open palm over his still healing arm, finding a faint comfort in the now dulling ache that served as a reminder to what Peter’s patience had given him. “You’re the only Alpha I’d dare say that to,” he faintly replied.

~*~

Derek and Stiles spent more time together, accompanying one another in the most mundane things. Nothing felt stressed or rushed between them. Derek was patient and gentle with everything Stiles did, finding a calmness in the Omega’s actions.

But Stiles still pulled away from Derek whenever they were too close to actually doing anything besides talking. Stiles’ cheeks would redden in a blotchy manner, his eyes widen before turning away from Derek. His eyes, however, would betray his resolve, sometimes tracking Derek’s lips whenever they were close enough. He would stare at Derek’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his own lips.

It was both tantalizing, and unintentional.

It took Derek days before he realized what had Stiles so anxious.

“May I kiss you?” Derek simply asked one afternoon.

Stiles nearly dropped his book, turning to look at Derek in surprise.

“I noticed that we hadn’t,” Derek offered.

Stiles’ features twisted as he turned his head to look away from Derek. “Why would we?”

A small scowl pulled at Derek’s features. He knew it wasn’t a slight, as it had sounded. It was Stiles’ genuine confusion as to why kissing would be a necessity. “Because it helps with intimacy,” he lamely countered, knowing it was just a way to disguise any embarrassment he had in admitting that he wanted to kiss Stiles—for some time.

“Peter never …” Stiles sighed, stopping himself from continuing that train of thought.

Derek’s features darkened. “I’m not Peter.”

“I know,” Stiles softly uttered. “I just … I don’t understand why you would want to … kiss me,” he elaborated.

Derek stared at Stiles. “Is that why you pull away from me?”

Stiles remained silent as he turned his eyes downcast.

Derek reached a hand out to capture Stiles’ chin. He forced him to look up at him, his touch gentle and patient as he waited for Stiles to show a sign of hesitation. He ran his thumb along the curve of Stiles’ bottom lip, the action barely pulling Stiles’ lips apart. He pressed in closer, his lips seeking out Stiles’ own.

Stiles hesitated before closing his eyes and pulling away from Derek. “Please, don’t,” he faintly whispered. He stood, dropping his book back onto the cushion of his chair.

Derek released a heavy breath, his anger at his uncle flaring once more, unable to understand exactly how anyone could treat Stiles until the point that this was his initial response to any intimate act.

~*~

“You ride very well,” Derek commented, watching the way Stiles steered his horse with such mastery that he made it seem easy.

Stiles faintly smiled as he pet side of his horse’s neck in a soothing manner. “My mother loved horseback riding,” he answered.

Derek allowed his gaze to linger on Stiles longer than he should have. “You don’t speak of her as often as you do your father.”

Stiles looked from his horse to Derek. “I suppose it’s more painful to recall memories, knowing that you’ll never make new ones, than to hope that you’ll still be allotted the chances to make them.”

“I understand that,” Derek replied.

“Is that why you don’t speak about your family?” Stiles asked.

Derek allowed Stiles’ words to sink in, realizing that it was the first time someone ever directly mentioned his determination to keep his family a taboo subject.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized. “That was out of line.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Derek answered, Stiles’ voice drawing his thoughts away from painful memories. “You’re right—it’s why I never speak about my family. Or even about my uncle.”

Stiles partially frowned. “It doesn’t give you joy to remember your family?”

Derek looked at Stiles. “It hurts me to think about what I did to them.”

“You nearly died trying to save them,” Stiles commented. “Not many people would run back into a burning estate to save anyone—even loved ones.”

Derek looked back at the road below them, focusing his attentions anywhere but Stiles. “The fire was my fault.”

Stiles shuffled his weight in his saddle, eyes observing Derek. “How?” He faintly asked.

“If I hadn’t been selfish,” Derek started to explain that his guilt was not wrongly placed. He thought of every cruel word Peter ever spewed at him, how he accepted them to be true without a fight. “If I had just agreed with my parents’ plan for me, none of this would come to pass.”

“You didn’t light the flame, Derek,” Stiles softly countered. “You hold no responsibility for the misfortune that befell your family.” He frowned when Derek refused to look at him. “I suppose everything would be different, though.” He sighed, “I’d probably be married off to Alpha Deucalion.”

Derek’s head snapped to attention at mention of the other Alpha’s name, turning to look at Stiles. “Deucalion vied for your hand?” He asked in disbelief.

Stiles flushed, slightly agitated by Derek’s tone. “I’m not homely,” he begrudgingly argued.

“That’s not what I meant,” Derek pushed. “I just— why did your father choose Peter then?”

Stiles looked at Derek. “My grandparents, I suppose.” He nibbled at his bottom lip, a habit he had yet to break. “They refused to help my parents at all when my mother was living. But then they came along and started to fawn over me the minute I presented as an Omega of high promise.” He shook his head in contempt. “I never forgave them. I think my father would have if he thought it would bring me peace.”

“They wanted the money that came with the prestige?” Derek asked.

Stiles snorted. “They have money—more than enough money to help me and my father settle our debts.” He looked at Derek. “But they hate my father. They think he stole my mother from having the possibility of a prestigious marriage.”

“So they punished you both for it,” Derek concluded.

“But when they heard I had the ability to bring pride to the family name by securing a prestigious marriage for myself, they suddenly warmed up to us,” Stiles replied. “They wanted my father to choose Alpha Deucalion,” he added, his hands tightening on his horse’s reins. “With no regard for the rumors circling Deucalion’s cruelty, and no concern for me.”

Derek reached a hand over to take hold of Stiles’ reins, drawing them to a slower pace. “You think my uncle’s cruelty pales in comparison to Deucalion’s?”

Stiles sharply looked at Derek. “I think most Alphas have little regard for how Omegas feel. We’re expected to bend to your every whim, and when we don’t, it’s our fault. Yes, your uncle hits me; he even forces me to share his bed when I want nothing more than to be left alone. But he doesn’t tie me up and allow his friends to use me. He doesn’t starve me.” He shook his head, recalling the horrors the other Omegas whispered about Deucalion and his pack. “Being Peter’s Omega isn’t a blessing, but it’s not the death-sentence that being Deucalion’s would have been.”

“You deserve better than either of them—someone willing to give you the attention you deserve,” Derek countered, releasing his hold on Stiles’ reins.

“I think indifference would be a kindness,” Stiles faintly uttered.

Derek turned his attentions back to the road, following the route towards the town and its marketplace. He didn’t know how to address the words spoken between them, how to comfort Stiles when he was unable to save him from the very thing that hurt him.

“I’m lucky, in a way,” Stiles commented, breaking the silence as they reached the town’s outskirts.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, arching his eyebrow in a silent question.

“Had my father not chosen Peter, we never would have met,” Stiles explained.

~*~

Stiles took his time searching through the books the different vendors had on display. He had apologized profusely to Derek, unsurprised whenever Derek told him it was fine—to enjoy himself. He smiled as he thought about the countless new titles he had procured, knowing that they would bring him comfort in the coming months—in the wake of Peter’s neglect.

“It looks like rain,” Derek commented as he helped Stiles back onto his horse.

“It seems to always storm whenever we leave the house,” Stiles recalled.

Derek released a slightly amused huff of air, turning to pull himself up onto his own horse. He settled into his saddle before guiding his horse to walk back down the path.

The rain suddenly poured down on them, giving no warning or break for them to find shelter.

Stiles followed after Derek, slowing his horse’s movements when he saw Derek get down off his saddle. He blinked against the raindrops falling into his eyes, squinting some when he tried to look at Derek. He slipped off his own saddle, offering a calming hush to his horse when she reared up at the noise of distant thunder.

Derek took hold of the reins of Stiles’ horse, pulling her along with his own mare in order to lead them both towards the shelter of an abandoned stable. He turned to reach for Stiles, surprised to find that the Omega was still standing out in the rain. His touch was gentle, wrapping around Stiles’ bicep to pull him out of the rain.

Stiles watched as Derek moved to close the dilapidated gate that would keep the horses paddocked beneath the roof’s scaffolding. He tried to ignore the shivers raking through his body, his riding cloak completely soaked through from the downpour. He hugged his arms around his chest as he watched Derek turn his attentions towards the small shed like addition to the paddock.

Derek inspected the warped door, testing its ability to move before actually putting weight behind his attempts to open it. He braced the edge of the door with his shoulder, shoving it hard enough to have it slide back. He peered inside, catching sight of furniture scattered throughout. He felt a small wave of relief when he saw the small fireplace, signs of recent usage making their predicament slightly more positive than before. He moved aside, gesturing for Stiles to head in before him. He made sure to securely close the door behind them both, wanting to keep as much warmth inside the small hovel like structure.

“What about the horses?” Stiles asked in concern, his words slightly shaken from the cold that started to settle in his bones.

“They’ll be fine now that they’re out of the rain. Boyd will just have to keep an extra eye on them once we get home,” Derek offered, turning his attentions towards the small fireplace. He stripped off his riding jacket, gleefully being rid of the cold it brought him.

“Who would use this place?” Stiles thoughtfully questioned, noticing that the place wasn’t as completely run down on the inside as it had looked outside.

“Hunters,” Derek offered as he broke a few pieces off of a splintered chair, the pegged legs already broken down for kindling. “It’s the halfway mark for anyone traveling out of town and towards the woods.”

Stiles faintly nodded. He cupped his hands together, blowing hot air over his frozen and tingling fingers. He watched as Derek started a small fire in the fireplace with little difficulty, unsurprised that Derek had mastered even basic skills of survival. He forced his eyes to look away when Derek pulled his shirt out from being tucked beneath his trousers.

Derek was busy pulling loose the laces of his boots when he looked up at Stiles. His movements faltered when he noticed that Stiles was still fully clothed. He could see the way Stiles was shaking as a result of his drenched clothes. “You’ll freeze if you stay in those,” he commented as he pulled off his boots, making it easier for him to begin to discard the rest of his clothing.

Stiles hesitated, still unwilling to undress in front of Derek despite knowing that Derek was right—if he wanted to get warmer, he would have to change out of his soaked clothes. His trembling fingers undid the clasp of his cloak, unsure if his trembling was from embarrassment or the cold.

Derek pulled his shirt off above his head, moving to hang it near the fireplace. He hesitated in turning to observe Stiles. He watched as Stiles struggled with undoing all the intricate laces and clasps of his layered clothing.

Stiles was focusing on trying to reach behind him to get the laces of his high-waisted corset. He always struggled trying to get out of them, only ever having it removed by either Erica or Peter.

Erica would loosen the corset with ease, helping Stiles to remove it over his head. Peter would rip the laces from their eyelets, uncaring if they were damaged, as long as he succeeded in his goal to rid himself of another obstacle to getting what he desired.

“Do you need help?” Derek finally asked, suppressing the fond smile that dared to dance across his lips when Stiles released an annoyed huff of air, dropping his hands from the corset’s laces.

“Yes,” Stiles admitted. “These things are as terribly complicated to get off as they are uncomfortable.”

Derek took a small step towards Stiles, getting close enough to reach the corset’s laces. He pulled at the complicated bow the corset was tied into—Erica must have been a sailor in a previous life. His fingers easily continued their work to loosen the bow, his fingertips slipping beneath the laces as he pulled them from their eyelets.

Stiles remained silent as he focused on the feeling of Derek loosening the laces of his corset. He had once thought that his wedding night would have been much like this—the giddiness of the unknown ahead, the tenderness of an Alpha’s intimacy, and the pure want he felt deep in his stomach.

Derek’s hands moved to caress the curve of Stiles’ spine, dedicating to memory the way the corset only distorted Stiles’ natural beauty into the mockery Peter thought befitting an Omega. “You shouldn’t wear these if you’re uncomfortable in them,” he uttered, unable to stop himself from commenting.

Stiles slowly turned, carefully observing Derek. “That wouldn’t be proper,” he pointed out, not at all sounding convinced by his own words.

Derek reached a hand out, his fingertips caressing Stiles’ cheek. “Propriety is overrated,” he uttered, his thumb trailing across Stiles’ skin.

Stiles forced his eyes to look away from Derek, knowing he shouldn’t allow himself to stare, no matter how much he wanted to.

Derek’s hand dropped away from Stiles’ cheek. He wordlessly knelt before Stiles, his hands moving to lift Stiles’ foot up off the ground. His palm gently cupped Stiles’ calf, easily guiding Stiles’ riding boot off his foot. He followed suit with Stiles’ other leg, all under the watchful eye of a willing Stiles.

Stiles was unsure about allowing Derek to continue, curious if he was crossing boundaries by willingly letting this unfold between them. His breath caught in his chest when Derek’s hands reached for the laces of his trousers.

Derek looked up at Stiles, a silent question of consent. He hesitated, ready to pull his hands away from Stiles completely should he pull away.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hands, holding them tightly as he formed the words to voice his one concern. “Please,” he started, his voice the only other sound in their shelter besides the fire crackling loudly in protest to the drops of rain against the roof. “I don’t want you to … please don’t act like this for my sake,” he finally uttered.

Derek stared up at Stiles, realizing that Stiles’ reluctance to be intimate was in concern for Derek and not himself. He allowed Stiles to continue holding onto his hands. “I thought you knew,” he started, eyes still looking into Stiles’ own. “I’m an Alpha, and we don’t do a damn thing we don’t want to.” He leaned forward, his nose brushing the laces of Stiles’ trousers. He gently bit down on the laces, easily pulling them undone with the simple movement of his head.

Stiles released Derek’s hands, allowing him to continue with his actions.

Derek pushed Stiles trousers down, easily holding them down for Stiles to pull his legs out of the material. His eyes lingered on the pristine silk of the stockings covering Stiles’ legs.

It was customary for Omegas to wear more layers than necessary, a construct of society’s attempts at keeping the Omega form hidden from the eyes of the public. A mated Omega was given the right to dress differently, shedding the restraints of society’s expectations. However, most Omegas were still prisoners to the wants and demands of their Alphas.

Peter demanded Stiles still wear the complex layers most young, unmated Omegas were expected to. He didn’t care for the quality of undergarments, just as long as Stiles was covered head to toe, all in an attempt to smother his beauty.

And Stiles was the ever-appropriate Omega, wearing the customary garbs that Peter demanded he wear, despite his status as an officially mated Omega.

Derek ran his hands over the stockings covering Stiles’ legs. His fingertips snuck beneath the intricate lace of the stocking, caressing the skin of Stiles’ thigh. He rhythmically started to roll the stocking down Stiles’ smooth legs. He placed the stocking near the fireplace in order for it to dry, never letting his eyes leave Stiles’ legs. He paid attention to the other stocking, rolling the fabric down in a similar manner. He cupped Stiles’ calf in the palm of his hand, lifting Stiles’ leg up higher. He pressed a delicate kiss to Stiles’ ankle, turning his head to look up at the Omega.

Stiles nibbled at his bottom lip, eyes focused on Derek’s actions. He hiccupped a sharp intake of breath when Derek’s lips caressed the inside of his knee. He allowed Derek to take hold of his shirt, easily moving it to pull the fabric up over his head.

Derek stood up, hands reaching out to Stiles to cradle his face in his hands. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, joyful that Stiles was responsive this time. He reluctantly turned away, quickly grabbing one of the few blankets folded and tucked away in the corner of the small room. There was a faint scent of another on the blanket, one that smelled of sleep and peace, nothing else. He almost felt sorry for making the blankets smell of them— _almost_. He laid it out of the floor before turning back to Stiles. He took Stiles into his arms with ease, pressing a faint kiss to his lips. “Lay down,” he faintly instructed, helping to move Stiles towards the makeshift bed.

Stiles obediently moved to sit down on the blanket, his limbs feeling long and sprawled out in the confined space. He looked up at Derek, eyes watching him closely. He hesitated, his hands reaching out for Derek’s trousers, pushing down at the fabric. He slowly pulled the fabric of Derek’s trousers down. He was unsure whether it was something he should do, the act of undressing his partner was something he knew nothing about.

Derek moved to help Stiles, catching the way Stiles’ eyes inspected his naked body. Pride welled in his chest at how Stiles’ eyes lingered on him in amazement.

Stiles watched as Derek moved to kneel beside him. He leaned back, watching Derek’s movements to hover over him. He dutifully turned to get onto his hands and knees, stilling when Derek’s hand stopped him. He looked at Derek, uncertain.

“Not like that,” Derek answered Stiles’ silent question, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. “Never like that—not between us.”

Stiles leaned back, spreading his legs to make room for Derek. He shyly looked away when Derek’s hands pulled at the last undergarment covering his cock and ass. He complied in lifting his hips to allow Derek room to pull the last bit of fabric from his body. He breathed in deeply when Derek moved to settle between his legs.

Stiles felt safe and protected with Derek’s warm body draped over him. He lost himself in their kisses, thighs cradling Derek’s hips in the intimacy of the moment.

~*~

Stiles released a faint sob, small moans gasping from his chest as Derek kept moving in and out of him. He clasped at Derek’s arms, closing his eyes as his mouth opened in a silent plea. “Derek, I— please, I can’t,” he weakly begged.

Derek slowed his thrusts, concerned he was hurting Stiles.

Stiles squeezed his thighs around Derek’s hips, shaking his head. “Don’t stop.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Derek panted, pressing faint kisses to Stiles’ throat, just under his chin. He wanted to taste every part of Stiles that he could, to know every inch of him.

Stiles shook his head again. “I’ve never— it feels good, but like it’s too much,” he shyly admitted, reaching a hand up to run through Derek’s hair. “Is that how it’s supposed to be?”

Derek released a pleased huff of laughter against Stiles’ skin, pulling back to look at him. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips, admiring the blush that blossomed across Stiles’ face and down his neck. “It should always be like this,” he spoke between kisses, additionally rolling his hips to earn another gasp from Stiles.

Stiles clung to Derek, his hips gently flexing against Derek’s, a small attempt to try and meet the Alpha’s thrusts.

Derek pulled away from Stiles, sitting upright to rest against his calves. He looped his arm around Stiles’ waist, his body slightly hunched to get a better hold on Stiles. His fingertips traced along Stiles’ hip and over the small of his back. He started up a relentless rhythm, thrusting into Stiles with no intention of stopping until Stiles’ orgasm hit.

Stiles’ legs trembled as his hips tried to meet Derek’s halfway. His trembling hands reached out for Derek, fingertips trailing along Derek’s back as he touched him. He opened his mouth, trying to find the right words, but all he could do was feel what Derek gave him. “Please, please,” he finally pleaded. His jaw became slack, his mouth parting at the start of a silent scream, his eyes widening as his entire body grew rigid, his orgasm suddenly crashing through him. His back bowed off of the ground, his body remaining still as Derek fucked him through his climax, pulling more soft noises from him.

Derek’s thrusts slowed, his hips bucking involuntarily, driving him to let his knot form and bury himself deep within his pliant and willing Omega.

“It’s okay,” Stiles breathlessly answered Derek’s concern. “I want it,” he added, weakly seeking out Derek’s lips for a kiss.

Derek pulled Stiles closer, pulling Stiles’ hips into his shallow thrusts as he moved to bury his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck. He mouthed at the shallow curve between Stiles’ throat and collarbone. He sucked a faint hickey into Stiles’ skin, not caring for the first time about his uncle’s wrath. He wasn’t going to let Peter touch Stiles—never again.

Stiles wanted Derek—he wanted _his_ baby.

That was the last thought ringing throughout Derek’s mind as his knot formed, locking them together.

Derek remained between Stiles’ sprawled out limbs, his face resting against Stiles’ panting chest. He rubbed his cheek against Stiles’ chest, closing his eyes as Stiles’ fingers gently ran through his hair. He tried to remain entangled with Stiles as he shifted them into a more comfortable position.

Stiles lightly gasped in surprise when Derek’s movements pushed his knot even further into his body. He smiled up at Derek when Derek’s hands ran along his hips in a soothing manner.

“This wasn’t the best position to do this in,” Derek commented, his voice raspy from lack of use, a look of complete bliss covering his features.

“I wasn’t really thinking about that,” Stiles answered, his hands running along Derek’s. “I don’t think either of us were.”

“That’s true,” Derek replied with a faint smile. He hunched over Stiles, his arm sneaking beneath Stiles’ back to brace his weight. He easily rolled them to the side, depositing Stiles on top of him.

Stiles released a pleased affirmation that he agreed with Derek’s solution. He rested his head against Derek’s chest, basking in the heat Derek’s body offered.

“Are you warm enough?” Derek asked, his hands gladly settling on Stiles as he held him against his chest.

“Very,” Stiles happily sighed, his fingertips soft as he traced various shapes through Derek’s chest hair.

Derek’s fingertips mindlessly traced along the naked curve of Stiles’ spine, his thoughts focused on them. “Stiles,” he softly addressed him.

“Hm?” Stiles tiredly answered, his eyes closed as he started to drift off.

“Earlier,” Derek started, his voice peaceful against the soft crackling of the dying fire. “You said you never …” He paused, unsure how to address his own fears at realizing the truth. “A few months ago, when we tried, did you not come?”

Stiles held his breath, his eyes opening the moment he realized what Derek was asking. He lifted his head from Derek’s chest, looking up at the Alpha. “Does it matter?” He faintly asked, not wanting to make Derek feel bad for something he had no idea of.

Derek closed his eyes, swallowing down the lump in his throat as he let his head fall back against the ground.

Stiles caught the way Derek’s throat bobbed, noticing the suppression of something that he could only guess was anger.

“It matters to me,” Derek roughly answered. He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling as he let the reality sink in that he had been neglectful of Stiles’ needs. “I’m as bad as Peter.”

“No,” Stiles firmly snapped, propping up his body as he reached a hand out to Derek. He cupped Derek’s cheek in his hand, forcing the Alpha to turn and look at him. “You have nothing in common with Peter. _Nothing_.” He released a heavy breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t know that was what happened—that _this_ is what it’s supposed to be like.”

Derek settled his hands on Stiles’ hips, a sure weight that helped balance Stiles on top of him. He wished he could tell Stiles that nothing bad would ever happen to him again—that he could protect him from the dangers ahead of them.

“I want to feel it again,” Stiles confessed. He ran the pad of his thumb along the plump curve of Derek’s lip. He pressed a delicate kiss to Derek’s lips, rotating his hips a little as he settled into Derek’s lap. He opened his mouth to Derek, reveling in the brush of their tongues. He gasped into Derek’s mouth when he felt Derek move inside him, small thrusts to drive even further into him. He rubbed his hands over Derek’s chest, moving to sit upright. He circled his hips, grinding down into Derek. His hands caressed over Derek’s, his head falling back as he rode out his pleasures.

Derek kneaded the skin on Stiles’ hips, his body arching as he pressed up into Stiles. He could feel the pleasure growing through his abdomen, the pressure of his knot being renewed with every move of Stiles’ body.

“I don’t want to forget this,” Stiles panted, his body heating up as the shallow thrusts pushed and pulled Derek’s knot within him. He turned his head to look down at Derek, allowing Derek to sit up and hold him close. He kissed Derek’s lips, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck as he held him close. He gasped in pleasure when the pressure of Derek’s knot was renewed, filling him once more.

Derek braced his arm around Stiles’ waist, keeping him flushed against him as he shook with pleasure. He pressed his face into the soft arch of Stiles’ throat, brushing his beard against Stiles’ skin. He felt as if his body was going to break, as if he had nothing left to give. He focused on the feel of Stiles’ body around him, even the nimble fingers running through his hair in a soothing manner.

Stiles pressed kisses into Derek’s hair, holding Derek’s head against his chest.

~*~

They made love twice more, finding a rhythm and pattern that fit them best when Derek wasn’t exhausted.

Stiles softly laughed—a beautiful sound that Derek decided he wanted to hear more often—when Derek groaned at him for climbing back on top of him. He found a lightness blossoming in his chest when Derek gingerly kissed him.

It was Stiles, however, who was pleasantly exhausted when Derek pulled him from their makeshift bed. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he patiently allowed Derek to dress him. He welcomed the soft kisses Derek pressed into his skin with every article of clothing that was placed back into proper formation.

Derek held Stiles’ hand as they emerged from the small shack, their fingers intertwined. He couldn’t help the joyful smile that took over his features, the weight of Stiles pressed against his side as he busied himself with untying the horses’ reins. He turned to look at Stiles, catching the way Stiles was looking at him with adoration in his eyes. He dared to lean forward and press a kiss to Stiles’ lips.

Stiles smiled into the kiss, ignoring the melancholy that bubbled up in his stomach when he realized that _this_ was what he thought his life would be like. He couldn’t stop the tears burning his eyes as he wished Derek had been the one he married.

Derek pressed their foreheads together, his hands moving to cradle Stiles’ face, his thumb gently brushing Stiles’ tear away. He wanted nothing more to promise Stiles that this meant more—that they could have this.

But he knew the glaring truth.

This was an illusion they both chose to pretend was reality. The moment Peter returned, Stiles would be caged once more. And Derek would then be back at school, unable to protect Stiles from anything.

~*~

Derek’s hands were gentle as they traveled across Stiles’ thighs. He held Stiles close, not caring when he heard the fabric of Stiles’ breeches being ripped. He tenderly nipped at Stiles’ bottom lip when Stiles released a faint whimper.

Stiles’ fingertips dug into Derek’s shoulders as his hips canted against Derek’s, wrapping his thighs around Derek’s waist. He couldn’t stop himself rubbing up against Derek with need, the roughness of the tree’s bark scratching up the exposed skin of his shoulders only added to his want. He never felt this way before, curious if this was what his books described—he wondered if this was what it meant to be desired. He lifted his hips to accommodate Derek removing his torn breeches, his arm wrapped around Derek’s neck for support. A small shudder ran through his body as Derek settled between his thighs once more. He pressed kisses to Derek’s face, gently nipping at Derek’s jaw in encouragement.

Derek’s finger hooked under the tied garter keeping Stiles’ stockings high on his thighs. He scraped his nails across Stiles’ skin, completely aware of the faint marks left in their wake. He leaned back when he realized Stiles was pawing at his jacket in an attempt to remove the offending material.

“Want to touch you,” Stiles weakly uttered, his hands yanking at the intricate buttons of Derek’s riding jacket.

Derek faintly smiled as he answered, “I want you to.”

Stiles smiled as he kissed Derek, slowly and tenderly as he pulled the buttons out of the way. His hands slipped under Derek’s liberated shirt, caressing Derek’s stomach as Derek rolled his shoulders to drop the jacket away from his body. He marveled when Derek pulled back once more, discarding his shirt to the ground.

Stiles pulled at the laces of his corset, releasing the fabric from his waist. He refused to admit his folly in dressing as scantily as he had that morning. He refused to admit his sin in waking from a dream of Derek, his cock hard with arousal, his sheets damp from the slick that dripped from his thighs. He felt different all day, wishing to be alone with Derek to continue where his dream had stopped.

Derek lifted Stiles with ease, hefting him away from the tree and down to the forest bed. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing Stiles’ delicate skin, desperate to have more than just the few exposed spots. He was selfish in his actions, allowing his blunt teeth to scrape across Stiles’ skin, leaving soft pink marks in their wake. He marveled in the contrast, feeling a drive to claim Stiles as his own—to never let another think they could possibly have the right to lay a hand on him.

Stiles gasped as he stared up at the sky, his mind buzzing with thoughts of only Derek. He was partially undressed, his clothes hazardously clinging to him still. His clothes had failed in their purpose to keep his body hidden away—preserved for Peter. He was more than willing to let Derek destroy his clothes if it meant he would be cherished like this.

Stiles’ body was on fire, lighting up under Derek’s touch. His skin was tingling, his muscles tensing when he tried to rub against Derek. His breathing was labored as he pawed at Derek, wanting to touch and be touched.

A sigh broke from Stiles’ throat when Derek thrust into him, finally feeling complete. Derek settled between Stiles’ thighs, unable to stop himself from moving his hips, spurred on by the small moans hiccupping from Stiles. Stiles pressed a needy kiss to Derek’s lips, clawing at him. His nails dug into the skin of Derek’s back, his voice cracking when Derek moved in him.

“Derek, please,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s lips.

Derek pulled Stiles up against his chest, away from being sprawled across the ground. He released a pleased huff of laughter when Stiles’ moan pitched high at the new angle. He pressed kisses to Stiles’ lips, against his blushing cheeks, all to ease Stiles’ whines for him to move. He busied himself with picking leaves and grass from Stiles’ hair, marveling in how disheveled Stiles looked.

Stiles’ shifted his hips in an attempt to feel the friction he needed. He huffed in annoyance when Derek seemed content in keeping them joined without actually moving. He bit at Derek’s bottom lip, pulling hard enough to draw a soft growl of arousal from Derek.

“I’m not stopping you from moving,” Derek countered, his hands running along Stiles’ bare thighs as he adjusted them.

Stiles’ eyes slid shut at the feel of Derek’s hands caressing his skin. His hips bucked in react to Derek’s hands settling beneath his ass, gripping his cheeks with enough pressure to send a jab of pleasure through him. “Please,” he shuddered against Derek, nearly shaking apart.

“Move with me,” Derek answered Stiles’ pleas, helping Stiles’ body to move with him.

Stiles grasped at Derek, holding himself steady as his entire body shook with pleasure. He needed more—he needed fulfillment, something he knew only Derek could give him. They moved together, hands tightly clutching the other as they practically clawed at becoming one.

Stiles’ breath hiccupped as he chased his orgasm, something he never knew existed before Derek touched him. He thought the books were filled with lies about the passion and pleasure felt when having sex—believing himself to be chained down by expectations that he was to endure what Peter gave him and never have anything more.

Stiles trembled as Derek fucked him through his orgasm, his limbs wrapped around Derek as his knot formed. His breath grew heavier as he tried to calm the buzzing in his body. He felt as if something was humming inside him, too much energy to stay still, despite how tired his body felt. He weakly rocked his body into Derek’s, trying to get more of the small sensations traveling up his body from the way Derek’s knot tugged against him.

Derek pressed kisses to Stiles’ face, gently nipping at Stiles’ ear as a groan escaped his throat. “Aren’t you sensitive?” His voice was rough, his wolf purring with pleasure at having Stiles in his arms once again. He had only been gone for most of the day, having to run an errand in town. He had been surprised to find Stiles in the stables, asking him to take an afternoon ride with him. He was pleased with the outcome.

Stiles shook his head, altering the angle of his hips once more. “I need … I don’t know,” he partially gasped in frustration. “I need _more_. But I don’t know what.” He blinked tears of frustration away, heat burning in his chest.

Derek pulled his head away from the crook of Stiles’ neck, his eyes carefully observing Stiles. “You’re hotter than usual,” he commented, his hands moving to cradle Stiles’ face. “Your eyes are … clouded.”

Stiles wiped his hands at the tears falling down his face, hating how he was acting. He hated the hollowness he felt in his chest when Derek’s arms fell from holding him. “I feel weird,” he hiccupped out of frustration.

“Stiles,” Derek gently called his name. “You’re in heat.”

Stiles blinked a couple of times, looking at Derek. “No, I’m— I haven’t had it yet.”

“Exactly,” Derek replied, wrapping his arms around Stiles once more. “You feel happy— _safe_ with me.” He didn’t want to give himself the idea that he brought Stiles joy.

Stiles nodded in agreement. He nuzzled his face just under the arch of Derek’s jaw, seeking out the confirmation that Derek allowed him such intimacies. “I trust you,” he breathed against Derek’s throat.

“Your body trusts me because you trust me,” Derek explained, running his hands along Stiles’ bare back, his fingertips tracing the curve of Stiles’ spine. “Let me take care of you.”

Stiles nodded against Derek, his hands clutching onto Derek’s shoulders. He didn’t want Derek to leave him—ever.

~*~

Stiles hated himself for crying. He hated that it made Derek tense with concern. He shook his head, begging Derek to keep going.

“Please, please, don’t leave me,” Stiles hiccupped, leaning over to grab Derek when he noticed the Alpha was getting up off the bed. He thought he must have messed up, that he made Derek mad about something, and now he was leaving him to be alone—to suffer through his heat alone.

“Sh,” Derek softly calmed him, reaching his hands out to cup Stiles’ face in his palms. “I’m getting you water,” he explained as he pressed kisses to Stiles’ face. “I’m not leaving the room, I promise,” he added, glad that Stiles visibly calmed from such a simple reassurance.

It was heavenly to have Derek back in bed with him, holding Stiles against his chest as he pressed a cold glass of water to Stiles’ lips—as he fed sweet grapes to Stiles. It was all something Stiles had read in one of his books, something he never thought he would experience in his life.

Derek nurtured Stiles and his every need, making sure to treat the Omega’s body with respect and care whenever he moved them around the bed. He was exhausted from the near constant attention Stiles needed, but never pushed the Omega away when he reached for him.

Stiles was riding Derek when he uttered such a soft series of words that made Derek’s heart hurt.

Stiles’ hands pressed against Derek’s chest as he lifted his body up and down, rocking his hips as he tried to find the right rhythm for them both. His breath was heavy, his thighs burning with the strain of keeping a sure pace.

Derek sat up, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist as he moved his hips as best he could, trying to get Stiles one more orgasm, all in hopes that the Omega’s heat would break with ease.

Stiles’ hands trembled as he cupped Derek’s face in his hands, his lips seeking out Derek’s. He closed his eyes as he gasped into their kiss, the tingling sensation in his stomach only growing with every movement.

“Please,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s cheek as he pressed encouraging kisses into Derek’s skin. He gently nipped at Derek’s jaw when he felt Derek’s hands move to cup just under his ass. He let Derek take control, his body pliant and welcoming of any touch Derek was willing to give him.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek playfully chuckled against Stiles’ shoulder when he heard the slight moan of frustration leave Stiles. He pulled back to look at Stiles, placing a delicate kiss against his lips. It was difficult, given their jostled movements, but sweet.

“I want to— Please, Derek, I want to come.” Stiles could see the red burning in Derek’s eyes. “For you.”

Derek’s reaction was quick, easily spinning them to flip Stiles down into the mattress as he continued to move inside him.

Stiles released a gasp, his fingernails digging into the grooves of Derek’s shoulder blades as he spurred their movement on. A series of gasps and moans cracked from Stiles’ throat when Derek picked up his pace, driving Stiles’ shoulders into the mattress beneath him.

“Come for your Alpha,” Derek practically bit out, his control over his wolf completely shattering the moment he felt Stiles’ body bow in reaction.

Stiles released a loud yell when his orgasm hit, his back arching as his body writhed against Derek’s. He released a faint sob, hit body lighting up with emotions he thought he had smothered long ago. His voice was shaky as Derek’s knot formed, his entire body shaking in the aftermath of it all when he uttered, “I love you.”

Derek didn’t respond, his body a heavy weight against Stiles. He did press a kiss to Stiles’ lips, one that felt sadder than he had intended it to.

It wasn’t until Stiles was asleep against his chest, his arm curled protectively around him, that Derek’s guilt sank in. He blamed himself, knowing that heats made all Omegas highly emotional—that Stiles wanted nothing more than to please his Alpha, and Derek made the mistake of not reeling in his own emotions. He had a slip of the tongue when he called himself Stiles’ Alpha, his own fantasy crossing into reality when Stiles’ body reacted to such a statement.

And now, Derek could only hear Stiles’ voice repeating those words.

 _I love you_.

Derek knew it had to end. If Stiles wasn’t already with child, there was no conceivable way for them to continue with this. Peter would be home within the next week, and Derek knew that dragging out this affair would only hurt Stiles in the end. He wished he cared less about Stiles, knowing that it wouldn’t hurt as much.

Derek pressed a kiss against Stiles’ head, listening to the drum of his heartbeat. “I love you, too,” he softly confessed into Stiles’ hair, wishing he had the courage to admit it as Stiles had.

~*~

Stiles stirred, his body pleasantly exhausted as he woke to an early morning light. The blankets were soft against his naked skin, gentle in their caress. He felt safe under the material that warmed his body from the cold morning. He turned in the bed, his body slightly stretching out along the mattress. His smile was small as he recalled how he came to be in such an exhausted state—his _real_ heat had finally hit.

Stiles turned onto his back, catching sight of Derek sitting in the armchair by the foot of the bed. He faintly smiled when he saw him, unable to hide his happiness.

“Good morning,” Derek greeted him, moving to sit along the edge of the bed, his hand brushing against the fabric of the blanket as he leaned against the mattress. He kept himself from pushing forward to wrap around Stiles the way he wished he had the right to. He knew he had to leave now, or his scent would never leave Stiles in time for Peter’s return.

“Morning,” Stiles replied, his voice soft with sleep. “Did I sleep too long?” He asked as he took in Derek’s apparel.

“No, not at all,” Derek answered, feeling a little guilty for not waking Stiles early. He knew it was better to be the coward and guarantee Stiles’ safety than to try and reason with him. “I have to head back to school today,” he offered in explanation, as if it was sufficient in answering any questions Stiles might have.

“So soon?” Stiles questioned, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Classes start tomorrow,” Derek offered as an excuse.

Stiles was quiet as he raked his brain, all in an attempt to remember if Derek had told him that. “You never … told me.”

“I didn’t want you to fret about it,” Derek honestly replied. “You wouldn’t have enjoyed the time we had.”

Stiles knew Derek was right, but it still hurt to know that Derek chose not to tell him. “When will you be home?” He dared to ask.

Derek shifted his weight some, knowing what Stiles wanted to hear. He knew that Stiles was waiting for him to tell him that it wouldn’t be long—that they could be together again soon.

But that wasn’t what the future held for them. It wasn’t what was fair—Derek had already overstepped his uncle’s trust by touching Stiles, and he was tempted to continue doing so, should Stiles wish to.

“At the end of the semester,” Derek chose to reply.

Stiles faintly nodded, slowly sitting up as his muscles ached at the movement. He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his blanketed knees. “Do you have to leave now?”

Derek looked at Stiles. “I have to leave within the hour.”

Stiles frowned.

Derek reached a hand out, taking Stiles’ in his own as he moved closer. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips when he turned to look at him. He allowed the kiss to linger—for Stiles’ arms to wrap around his neck as the Omega pressed in and responded to the kiss.

It was cruel to give Stiles such hope. And Derek hated himself for it.

~*~

Stiles hummed to himself as he wrote Derek’s name on the outside of the envelope. He had drafted more than a handful of letters, unsure how to speak to Derek through such a mechanical way. He wanted to look at Derek, to be able to get a lungful of his scent. He wanted to tell Derek in person that he was with child. He was calm as he thanked Erica for accepting the duty of sending off the letter with Isaac, guaranteeing that Peter wouldn’t discover its existence.

Stiles waited patiently for Peter to emerge from his den, deeming him worthy of his Alpha’s attention. He had planned what he would say to Peter, trying to gage what his possible responses could be. He was terrified that Peter would question his news, having not spent any time in Stiles’ bed since he left.

“Nothing around this house changes,” Peter grumbled to himself when Isaac took longer than normal to fetch the bourbon.

Stiles looked from his plate to Peter, his eyes evaluating the Alpha’s form. “I’m guessing things went better during your travels.”

“Traveling is the only form of joy I have these days,” Peter countered, his gaze falling on Stiles. He stared back at Stiles, noticing how the Omega didn’t shy away from speaking the truth. “You appear to be in a … _particular_ mood.”

Stiles nodded in reply. “I spoke with Deaton today,” he answered, conscious of the way Peter’s body corrected itself in alert. “I suppose congratulations are in order,” he added, staring back at Peter as he waited for a response—good or bad.

Peter’s expression twisted in understanding, his eyes looking down to Stiles’ stomach, as if he could possibly tell there was something growing inside him. “He’s … sure?”

Stiles sighed. “In these situations, I would say I know better than him, but yes, Deaton is sure,” he answered in annoyance.

“How long?”

Stiles looked at Peter. “He’s not sure about _that_. It could have been … months ago.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. Deaton didn’t know how far along Stiles was, guessing that the child was conceived at least a week before Derek left and Peter returned.

“I’m to have an heir then,” Peter hesitantly claimed, a look of hesitation falling over him once the words left his mouth.

Stiles’ eyes turned downcast in an attempt to keep from giving anything away. “Yes, Alpha. You’re to have a child to call your own.” The words were heavy weights dropping off Stiles’ tongue. He felt hollow in calling Derek’s child Peter’s. He wished he could run away—perhaps even run to Derek.

Peter stood from his seat, the chair’s legs scraping loudly against the floor at the abruptness.

The gesture startled Stiles from his thoughts, his eyes seeking out Peter’s in an attempt to gage his emotions. He was desperate to protect himself should he see the look of anger flashing across the Alpha’s face.

Instead, Peter leaned close to Stiles, his arm rested across the back of Stiles’ chair in order to support his weight. His hand delicately cupped Stiles’ cheek as the faintest kiss was pressed to Stiles’ forehead.

The gesture had been both the gentlest and fondest that Peter had ever shown Stiles. It was completely hollow of the man Peter had been towards Stiles since they married.

And it scared Stiles more than Peter’s anger ever had.

Stiles was aware of Peter’s hand leaving his face in order to run along his stomach. His heart hurt; his eyes stung with tears as he shut them against the pain of reality. He understood that, to Peter, he was still just a means to an end. With a baby to call his own, Peter wouldn’t have a use for Stiles any longer.

It scared Stiles to think what Peter would do with him then.

~*~

Peter had been kinder in the days following the announcement that Stiles had taken with child. He was gentler in his touch, only sharing his bed with Stiles for nothing more than sleep.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Stiles to wake with Peter still in bed with him, the Alpha’s arms having pulling him in close during the night, protective hands resting against his protruding belly. He let himself pretend it was Derek instead.

Stiles imagined that this is what his marriage was meant to be like—the unmistakable feeling of being cherished. But it was nothing compared to what he felt when with Derek.

Peter could never compare to Derek—not for Stiles.

Stiles knew Peter’s care was solely meant for the benefit of the child growing inside Stiles’ belly. He did have hope that Derek would be correct in assuming that Peter’s anger would be pacified by the birth of an heir.

Stiles was always exhausted whenever they returned home from a banquet or ball. He had never before attended so many parties in such a short period of time, knowing that Peter wished to display his success in taming his Omega. This night was no different than the others, Stiles standing silently by Peter’s side, allowing Peter’s hand to caress his stomach every so often. It was exhausting to play the dutiful mute Peter wished him to be, accepting that what comfort he was to find would be in his letters to Derek. He knew that he had written more than a dozen, all without a response so far. He had asked Isaac to personally deliver the letter to Derek this time, asking that he wait to hear a response. He hoped it wasn’t too forward to ask such a favor, but he was desperate for a response from Derek.

Stiles was grateful to Erica for drawing the hot bath for him that night, smiling as he slipped into the steaming water, his muscles loosening in appreciation. He tried to hide his eagerness to ask Erica about any responses Isaac had gotten from Derek directly.

“Anything in the post today?” Stiles faintly asked, looking up at Erica as she put the fragrance bottles back into their intricate case.

Erica’s movements slowed, a sad sigh releasing from her chest. “I think it would be better for everyone if you stopped,” she tenderly spoke.

Stiles was surprised by Erica’s directness. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you,” he sheepishly offered. “Isaac told me that he didn’t mind.”

“We don’t mind doing things for you, Stiles,” Erica corrected him. “I just don’t know if this course will cause you pain.”

Stiles looked down at the bath water, understanding what Erica meant. “I am impulsive, some times. I wrote Derek too many letters, I know that. I just wanted to know how he is—it feels as if he’s been absent a long time.” His hand idly ran along the swollen curve of his stomach. It had been months since he heard anything about Derek.

Erica’s features sunk. “Isaac was able to speak with Derek,” she offered. “And he said that his uncle had informed him.”

Stiles looked perplexed by her words. “Peter didn’t know I was with child when I wrote Derek,” he explained. “Derek was the first I wrote to. Has he not been getting my letters?”

Erica frowned. “Isaac asked him as much,” she started, turning to look at Stiles. “Derek told Isaac that he had received the last letters, much the same as he received the one Isaac carried that day.”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Derek told Isaac that he has been throwing them away,” Erica firmly stated, hating that she was the one to crush Stiles’ hopes for word from Derek.

“I don’t … understand,” Stiles faintly commented. “Why?” He looked up at Erica, wishing that she could explain why Derek would do that.

“Isaac asked him for a response to the last letter you sent,” Erica confessed. “He … he refused. Said that it wasn’t proper to be writing to you, not without Peter knowing.”

Stiles looked away from Erica, his chest tightening as his stomach anxiously unraveled. “Did he even read this letter?” He faintly asked, almost unwilling to know.

“He took the letter from Isaac, but refused to read it,” Erica answered. “He said that he never intends to write back to you, nor does he wish to hear any further news about the estate and … its _occupants_ , while he’s away.”

Stiles faintly nodded, feeling the familiar heat of tears welling in his eyes. He finally understood how Derek could possibly be related to Peter. “I understand. I wish I wasn’t foolish enough to send another letter—he must be busy with his exams.” He offered a weak laugh, hoping it was enough to convince Erica that he wasn’t upset. He hoped he didn’t sound too pitiful. “Too busy to be pestered by his uncle’s silly Omega.”

Erica frowned, wishing she could protect him from such pains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content:
> 
> Stiles and Derek begin their official affair, of sorts.
> 
> Also, I know I said Stiles deserves nice things ... and he does. But I'm a heartless bitch and take it away from him in the end. But don't worry ... he gets it back. In another chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison and Lydia finally show up for a short period, and will be mentioned/there in later chapters as well.
> 
> There is also a conversation about Derek's past with Kate, which is towards the end of the chapter.

Months passed in relative silence for Stiles. He obeyed Peter in every way he could, trying to see to his own needs while ignoring his desire to shy away from Peter. He had hoped he wasn’t as much of a bother to the staff as he felt.

Stiles was standing with Peter, receiving their guests for the celebratory ball held in honor of their unborn child, when he saw Derek again.

Stiles was practically glued to Peter’s side the entire evening, making the necessary bows and smiles to complete strangers as he thanked them for their presence. He was overjoyed when Lady Martin greeted him with familiarity.

“Congratulations are in order,” Lydia stated with a fond smile as she hugged Stiles. She made an acceptable bow to Peter, making sure to not show a fellow Alpha a slight.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” Stiles replied with a smile. “You’ve been so busy lately.”

“I’ve taken a vacation of sorts,” Lydia faintly shrugged. “And I wanted to see you—if feels like it has been too long.”

“It does feel that way,” Stiles echoed.

“Derek,” Peter uttered in surprise when he caught sight of his nephew approaching as a normal guest would.

A nervousness twisted in Stiles’ stomach. He placed a delicate hand under the curve of his swollen belly. He had been waiting for this moment for a while, part of him hoping that he’d be able to speak with Derek about his behavior towards the letters. He had wondered if he bothered reading the last letter he sent with Isaac—swearing the Beta to secrecy from Erica and the others, knowing he had promised to stop once discovering Derek’s request. He wondered if it was too formal of a letter, now that he was going to be speaking with Derek in person. A small smile pulled at his lips, making himself presentable as he turned to look at Derek.

Stiles’ smile fell from his lips, a blank expression replacing his once joyful look.

Derek gave a respectable bow to Peter, his gaze avoiding Stiles at all costs. He took a step back, presenting the young lady at his side to Peter. “This is Lady Allison Argent,” he firmly spoke, allowing Peter to know that he was serious.

Peter tensed beside Stiles, his gaze falling on Allison. “You didn’t learn the first time when you brought an Argent Omega home with you?” He snapped.

“What my aunt did was terrible,” Allison started, daring to speak without being properly prompted by an Alpha. “But I assure you, I am nothing like her in the slightest.”

“I can tell you look nothing like her,” Peter uttered in annoyance. “But she pretended to be one thing before revealing her true nature.”

Stiles stared at Lady Argent, unable to tell what her purpose in being present was. He dared to look at Derek, noticing how inattentive he looked. He realized that this Derek was very different from the one that he spent his time with in the passed. He knew Derek to be one that hated social engagements, and showed no desire to present himself as attached in a particular manner to anyone.

“The Argent pack had a falling out with both Kate and Gerard, did they not?” Lydia asked, offering her assistance in quelling Peter’s anger.

“Yes,” Allison answered, turning her attention towards Lydia. “They were both publicly disowned by our pack.”

Stiles tore his gaze away from Derek, looking at Peter. He dared to press his luck, for both Derek’s and Allison’s sake, knowing that Peter was close to throwing them both out. He gently touched Peter’s arm, something he had been allowed the luxury of doing so over the past few months.

Peter’s reaction was almost instant, his head turning to look at Stiles.

“Please, Alpha,” Stiles softly started, knowing that Peter was aware of the way he held a hand beneath his stomach—as if it emphasized the entire point of them having the ball. “Tonight is meant to be a celebration,” he explained his reasoning. “To be shared with pack. It would be wrong not to have your nephew here, and his … companion.” He held Peter’s gaze, uncertain what Peter’s reaction would be.

Peter sighed in annoyance before briefly nodding his head. “I suppose you have a point.” He looked back at Derek and Allison, offering a faint nod of approval. “Enjoy the night,” he stated, his tone neither warm nor welcoming.

It was the best type of welcoming an Argent could hope for from Peter.

Stiles offered a friendly smile towards Allison when she bowed in thanks to him. He made the mistake of looking at Derek, their gazes locking briefly. He wished he could ask Derek right then and there what it all meant—why he brought Allison home, clearly sharing a history with her pack. He forced his eyes to look away, turning his attention towards the ground. He allowed Peter to take his arm and direct him further into the ballroom.

Stiles was happy that Peter stationed him at one of the couches on the outskirts of the ballroom’s dance floor. He smiled whenever a couple passed him, pretending that he wasn’t hoping someone would ask him to dance. He had been clumsy even before his pregnancy, but he still hoped he could have at least one dance—he knew Peter would never ask him.

“Omega Hale,” a cautious voice addressed Stiles.

Stiles turned to look at the owner of the voice, surprised to find it belonged to none other than Lady Argent. “Lady Argent,” he smiled in greeting. “Or should I address you as Omega Argent?”

Lady Argent smiled in return. “You could just call me Allison, as my friends do.”

“I suppose you’d then have to call me Stiles,” Stiles answered in kind. He gestured towards the seat across from him, knowing that it was proper to keep their distance.

Allison took the seat across from him, laying her dress in the correct manner as she sat. “I wanted to thank you, for speaking on my behalf earlier,” she started, leaning forward in her chair as she sat the gloves down on the table to rest beside Stiles’ own. “I’m saddened that we missed you playing the piano,” she added. “Derek says you’re quite talented.”

Stiles tried to hide his frown of disappointment. “He’s too kind,” he shyly uttered.

“Nonsense,” Allison replied. “Derek doesn’t hand out compliments to anyone who doesn’t deserve them.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. “My mother played. It was one of her favorite pastimes.”

“She must have been very talented as well,” Allison commented. “I would like to be as lucky to have such accomplishments.”

“I’m sure you’re being modest,” Stiles replied. “How do you find yourself spending your alone time? Surely you have some hobby.”

“It’s not _proper_ for an Omega to,” Allison started, shaking her head as she smiled to herself. “I suppose I take after my father more than my mother, now that I think of it. I’ve always been fascinated by archery. I’ve become quite accomplished in it.”

Allison Argent was a beautiful young Omega. She had the proper teaching and etiquette that all of Stiles’ teachers could have offered. But remarkably so, she was fiercely independent in finding her passion in many hobbies that were reserved for Alphas or Betas.

“You shoot arrows?” Stiles asked in disbelief, knowing that archery was a sport often times sought out for leisure by members in different circles of society, regardless of being a Beta or Alpha. But he had never heard of an Omega taking up such a hobby.

“I’m lucky,” Allison softly smiled back at Stiles. “My father has allowed me a freedom so little get to know.” A small frown pulled at her lips when she mentioned her father.

“I’m sure your future Alpha will be as pleased with your accomplishments,” Stiles replied with a smile.

Allison seemed uneasy at Stiles’ statement, casting her eyes across the room. “Yes, I think so,” she faintly offered.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed, slightly confused at the hesitance in Allison’s words. “I didn’t mean to assume,” he started, wondering if he had unknowingly insulted her. “I thought with …” He hesitated, wondering if he had read the signs wrong—if he had mistaken Derek’s motives for accompanying her. A brief sliver of hope sparked in Stiles’ heart, wondering if it was all an act—that Derek was engaging in what was expected of him.

“You’re not mistaken,” Allison offered, shattering what hope Stiles had with such simple words. “We just haven’t … announced anything yet.”

Stiles nodded in understanding. “Of course,” he offered a forced but kind smile. “In that case, you could sit next to me and cause all the scandal,” he partially joked. “What will people think we’re chatting about? Only rumor will tell.”

Allison smiled in return. “That would be kind of you—and equally amusing.”

Stiles lightly laughed when Allison moved to cross around the small table to sit beside him on the couch. He shuffled what little he could, scooting himself back onto the cushion to keep his back from straining. He faintly smiled when he felt his baby kick in response to his jostling, gently petting his hand against the spot to answer.

“Did …” Allison’s voice stopped as she looked at Stiles’ stomach.

Stiles looked at Allison, nodding to her unspoken question with a wider smile on his face. “She did.”

“She?” Allison questioned.

“I hope,” Stiles offered, unsure how to explain his dreams of having a baby girl to call his own. He couldn’t stop dreading having a boy, knowing he would look like Derek—fearing Peter would discover the child’s true origins.

“Would it be okay if …” Allison gestured towards Stiles’ stomach. “I’m just curious.”

Stiles smiled, taking her hand in his as he guided her hand to the curve of his stomach. He waited, knowing that the baby was bound to kick back sooner than later. He moved his position, leaning in closer to Allison in hopes the baby would kick in answer to his movement. He froze when he caught the familiar scent mingling with Allison’s own.

It had been faint, making Stiles think that it was just the underlying smell of the Alpha remaining in the house. But it was stronger now that Allison was leaning closer, and he knew it was coming from her—the familiar smell mixed together with her own scent.

Stiles barely reacted when Allison happily stated that she felt the baby kick, his mind still buzzing with questions and foolish denial.

 _Derek_. Allison smelled as if she shared a bed with Derek.

“Stiles?” Allison faintly asked, her face coming into his view. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Stiles turned his attention towards her, noting how far away she sounded. “I … I don’t feel well,” he uttered, not knowing how to respond.

Images of Derek and Allison, cuddled together in bed suddenly plagued Stiles’ mind. He felt as if he had been thrown away—cast out for someone else.

Allison frowned, turning her head to find someone. “Derek,” she called.

Stiles wanted to grab her hand, beg her not to call him over—anyone but Derek. “Please, I’m fine—don’t bother him.”

But it was too late. Derek, being the ever-noble Alpha, appeared when summoned.

Stiles refused to look at Derek, knowing that he might burst into tears at just the sight of him—knowing that Derek had come home and not greeted him. He didn’t want to see the way Derek was looking at him now, as if he was the most pitiful thing in the world.

“Stiles is unwell,” Allison offered in understanding as she kept a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, trying to keep him from toppling over.

“You’re fretting too much,” Stiles softly stated, his stomach twisting with nausea the longer he lingered here. He couldn’t help but being lured into lingering, realizing that he missed Derek’s scent more than he thought now that he was practically drowning in it. But the faint smell of Allison’s sweet scent was intruding there, mixing with Derek’s on a level that agitated Stiles more than grounded him.

Stiles felt betrayed by Derek, as if his heart was breaking all over again. He refused to admit to the servants that he had cried the nights Peter left him alone, abandoned by the last person who was obligated to share intimacies with him. He wondered what he had done wrong; if every word Derek said to him during their time together was a lie. It only made the tears come harder on those nights.

“Are you lightheaded?” Derek faintly asked, keeping his distance from Stiles.

“Just nauseous,” Stiles weakly answered, keeping his gaze downcast.

“Nephew,” Peter’s voice announced his arrival. “Pestering my Omega?”

“Stiles isn’t well,” Derek flatly answered as he turned to look at Peter. “Feeling nauseous, even.”

“He’s with child, of course he’s nauseous,” Peter countered. “Do you need to retire for the evening?” He asked as he turned to Stiles.

“Please,” Stiles responded. He was used to being able to push his bounds with Peter, now that things were changing around the estate. He knew Peter wouldn’t touch him in anger, not while the baby was still growing. “I don’t want to upset the baby.”

Peter nodded in agreement, always quick to agree for the sake of the baby.

“Do you need help?” Allison asked as Stiles stood on his own.

“I’ll have one of the servants help me,” Stiles answered, trying to sound polite.

“You shouldn’t stress yourself, Lady Argent,” Peter commented. “You’re almost in just as delicate a situation as he is.”

Allison’s face paled at the comment, her eyes searching out Derek’s.

“Peter,” Derek lowly growled under his breath as he turned to his uncle.

“What?” Peter asked as he looked at Derek. “You think this room can’t smell it on her?” He cruelly snorted at Derek’s dark expression. “A pregnant Omega gives off a delicate scent. I may not have met Allison before, but her scent is telling enough.”

Stiles felt his blood run cold. He had been a fool, thinking that Derek’s scent was merely lingering on Allison, when it was more than that. The sweet smell of a pregnant Omega wasn’t his own that he had grown used to. It had been Allison’s own scent, announcing to the world around them that she was with child.

Derek’s child.

Stiles stumbled from Allison’s grip, forcing his feet to carry him away from the ballroom and the eyes of their guests. His body was numb, a feeling of uneasiness falling over him in a building wave. His eyes burned with the threat of tears as his stomach ached with melancholy. He was desperate to rest in bed, the one place he felt comfortable enough to hide away from prying eyes. He stumbled when a sharp pain cut through his lower abdomen, forcing him to grab at the small decorative table in the hallway for balance. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath as he begged his baby to calm down—trying to send her soft words of comfort and reassurance.

“Everything’s okay,” Stiles softly stated as he pressed his hand against where she kicked. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he tried to stop his tears. “Nobody will ever hurt you. You’re going to grow up strong and happy. You’re going to have all my love and attention. And I’ll never … _never_ let anyone hurt you,” he softly spoke the vow, his thumb caressing the low curve of his stomach as she fell back into a soothing position.

“Are you hurt?” Derek’s voice broke through Stiles’ thoughts.

Stiles forced himself to stand on his own, turning to look at Derek. “Fine,” he faintly offered before turning to leave Derek behind. He startled when Derek gently grabbed his arm to stop him. He didn’t realize how much he had grown to love Derek’s touch—to take it for granted every moment he had Derek to himself.

“You’re in pain,” Derek offered.

“Let go of me,” Stiles tried to firmly demand, his voice slightly shaking with uncertainty in giving such an order.

Derek didn’t release his hold on Stiles right away, his brain trying to process what Stiles had just uttered. He allowed his hand to slip from Stiles, releasing his hold on him. “I came to check on you.”

Stiles stared at Derek, his features softening some.

“Peter asked me to walk you to your room,” Derek explained.

Stiles’ features unpleasantly contorted once more. “I don’t need you to find my way to my room,” he sharply answered. “Go back to the party. Your Omega will be missing you.”

Derek carefully watched Stiles, noting the way he refused to look him in the eye after such a comment. “You’re angry that I invited Lady Allison home with me,” he observed.

“What you do with your free time is your own concern,” Stiles countered. “It’s not proper to bring a young Omega home with you, only to leave her unaccompanied.” He knew he shouldn’t comment on it, but he felt petty in his heartbreak. “Then again, I suppose nothing about your relationship with Lady Argent has been _proper_.”

Derek’s features were closed off as his blank stare turned into a soft glare. “ _You_ want to lecture _me_ on propriety?”

“When were you planning on announcing everything? _After_ she has the baby?” Stiles dared to question.

“It’s none of your business,” Derek nearly snapped at Stiles. “Whether I mate with Lady Allison or not, it won’t affect you in the slightest. You’ll still have your baby to present to my uncle in a few weeks time, regardless of whether I find it fit to legally bind myself to Allison or not.”

Stiles bit the inside of his lip to keep it from quivering. “Then you won’t deny it,” he asked in almost disbelief.

“That’s none of your business,” Derek reiterated. “And the faster you learn that, the easier this is going to be.”

“You may have been born an Alpha, but I’m your pack Alpha’s mate,” Stiles hesitantly stated. “Which puts me as second in the pack hierarchy.”

“In name alone,” Derek answered.

Stiles’ eyebrows pinched together in anger. “I am Peter’s Omega—”

“In name,” Derek repeated, louder and with more emphasis. “Everyone knows how Peter feels about you.”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing his inevitable tears to keep hidden, as always.

“You’re a silly Omega who had dreamt of finding a romance like in your foolish books,” Derek pushed, his hand curling into a fist as he stilled his resolve. “I pitied you for that notion, just like everyone else did. But I did my duty and I fulfilled my promise to help you.”

“You’re right, I am a silly Omega,” Stiles answered as he stared down at the intricate design of the ornate carpet as his tears fell. “And you’re just a cruel boy, pretending to be a man.”

“You’re not my mate,” Derek lowly answered, well aware that the estate had ears eager to listen. “Stop acting as if you have the right to speak to me in that manner. Once I take Allison as my mate, I will Alpha my own pack. _Away_ from Peter.”

Stiles firmly nodded, sniffling some as he wiped his tears away on back of his shirtsleeve. He forced himself to look up at Derek, hating that he ever let himself feel anything for him. “Then I congratulate you, young Lord Hale.” His throat tightened as he forced the next words out. “I’m only sorry that I stole your first born from Lady Argent.”

The silence of the hallway answered their tense lull in argument.

The soft sound of footsteps offered a minor comfort, both knowing they wouldn’t have time to add more harsh words now that they would have an audience.

“Stiles,” Allison’s sweet voice called, a faint laughter in her tone as she approached them. “I mistook your gloves for my own,” she started in explanation, holding out a pair of evening gloves that were traditionally worn by Omegas.

Stiles tore his gaze away from Derek, wiping at his eyes before he dared to look at Allison. He knew she knew, just by the concerned look she gave him. He looked down at the gloves frowning at them. He had taken them off when playing the piano earlier.

The gloves had been an ill-conceived gift on Peter’s part. Peter had known it was customary to give his Omega a gift when presented with the pleasant news that they were with child. But he also couldn’t be bothered to look for a gift for Stiles. He instructed Erica to find something that Stiles would enjoy. He was annoyed when he saw Stiles open the box to reveal the pair of gloves once worn by his sister.

Stiles frowned when Peter uttered his disapproval, even going as far as to offer the gloves back to Peter. He held the gloves close when Peter stated that there was no other need for the gloves—not now that the rightful owner was dead.

Stiles had been surprised that the gloves even fit his hands—his fingers always being mocked as freakishly long for an Omega’s.

The gloves were made of fine silk, lace decorated up the inseam, elegant pearl buttons holding them tightly around the wearer’s wrists and elbows. They were finer than any gloves Stiles had been offered as gifts, and by far nicer than any other gloves worn by the Omegas in Peter’s social circle.

Stiles admired the gloves, marveling that he had the honor of wearing a garment that once belonged to an Alpha—a strong and proud Alpha like Talia Hale.

Now, however, Stiles saw how little he deserved them.

“I’m sorry,” Allison offered, trying to make the situation she stumbled into better, even without fully knowing what had happened.

“Think of them as a gift,” Stiles stated, refusing to hold his hand up to take the gloves from Allison’s outstretched grip.

“Stiles,” Allison sadly started, briefly looking at Derek before looking back at Stiles. “I can’t accept these.”

“An early congratulatory gift,” Stiles softly stated as he looked at Allison. “And an apology for the way Peter spoke to you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Peter had given them to me by mistake,” Stiles firmly continued. “He didn’t want me to have them, but was too proud to admit his mistake.” He closed his eyes, touching his hand to his stomach when the baby kicked again. “They were Derek’s mother’s. She’d … she’d want you to have them.”

Derek stared at the gloves, recognizing them as the ones his father had given to his mother on their anniversary—a night long before the fire happened. He wanted nothing more than to call Stiles a fool, forcing him to keep such a gift. But he had no right to tell Stiles whether to keep the gloves or not.

“I’m very tired,” Stiles suddenly turned, pressing his hand against the hallway table. “I’m … I need to rest. But please, just— Just keep them,” he struggled with his words, his head feeling light and unsteady as he stumbled a little.

“Stiles,” Allison grabbed ahold of his arm. “You’re not well. Let us help you.”

“I … I’ll be fine,” Stiles tried to pull his arm out of Allison’s hold, only to have his knees buckle beneath him. He fell backwards, his vision blackening as he started to lose consciousness.

Derek grabbed Stiles by the waist, wrapping his arms around him as he kept him close. He gently lowered them to the ground, cradling Stiles in his grip as he held him against his chest. He cupped Stiles’ cheek in the palm of his hand, tenderly turning Stiles’ face to look up at him.

“Something’s wrong,” Stiles softly stated, his eyelashes fluttering. “I feel too weak,” he winced when a contracting wave stabbed through him.

“Go get Deaton,” Derek ordered to Allison, barely turning his head towards her as he refused to take his eyes from Stiles.

~*~

Both Derek and Peter started to move forward when Deaton opened the door to the bedroom. The healer eyed both Alphas, not at all surprised by the response.

“Is the baby okay?” Peter asked first.

Derek turned a glare on Peter, angered by his uncle’s disregard for Stiles’ wellbeing.

“The baby is fine,” Deaton answered, watching the relief fall over Peter. He turned his knowing gaze on Derek. “And Stiles is fine as well.”

Derek faintly nodded.

“Pregnant Omegas are very delicate, especially nearing the end of their pregnancy,” Deaton started to explain. “It’s a highly emotional time for them to begin with, but more so if they are placed in a stressful situation.”

Guilt sunk deep in Derek’s gut.

“I suggest not placing any stress on Stiles,” Deaton continued. “He should have bed rest until the baby is born. And even for some time after that.”

Peter nodded in agreement.

Deaton sighed, offering a silent nod of departure as he exited into the main hallway.

Peter placed a firm hand on Derek’s shoulder, a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Derek. If you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to go check on him, he may still be in that hallway.”

Derek was silent as he tore his gaze away from the door Stiles was hidden behind. He looked at Peter before faintly nodding.

“You don’t have to linger here, though,” Peter offered, slipping his hand away from Derek’s shoulder. “You must be tired from your journey. And no doubt your Omega is craving your attention. Go enjoy her warming your bed.”

Derek hesitated, knowing when he was being dismissed. He wanted to tell his uncle to go find an Alpha’s warmth for the evening. He wanted to be the one comforting Stiles, begging his forgiveness for such harsh and foolish words spoken out of jealousy. He wanted to be the one wrapped around Stiles, protecting him and their baby. But as always, he forced himself to dutifully follow his uncle’s words, departing into the main hallway and away from Stiles.

“Walk with me,” Deaton’s voice surprised Derek.

Derek looked at Deaton, knowing he was demanding and not offering. He walked beside the healer, waiting for the reprimand that was about to happen.

“Stiles refused to tell me what happened,” Deaton started. “But from what I observed in the ballroom, I’d say Stiles is upset about Lady Argent’s current state of health.”

Derek looked away from Deaton, his eyes downcast.

“It was extremely foolish of you to bring another Omega home with you,” Deaton continued. “Especially a pregnant one.”

“Stiles isn’t my mate,” Derek countered.

“But he is carrying your child,” Deaton corrected. He turned to look at Derek. “You need to realize that Stiles’ mind may know this fact, but his body is more delicate in that matter. He can’t convince his body to unlearn your touch, or the vow of safety that your touch gave him.”

“He’s had months to forget,” Derek faintly argued.

“And so have you,” Deaton replied. “But you have not been living with the reminder of your time spent together growing inside you.” He released a faint sigh. “You are the type of Alpha Stiles’ father thought he was marrying his son off to. You are the type of man Stiles had been told he would marry—would be cherished by. And instead, Stiles was handed to a selfish Alpha who barely resembles the shell of the man he used to be. Is it truly unreasonable that Stiles fell in love with the tender touch of the man that gave him the attention and care he needs?”

“This was never a permanent arrangement,” Derek uttered, looking at Deaton. “It was a way for Stiles to give my uncle an heir—a solution to Peter’s frustrations.”

“I’m not asking that you change anything, Derek,” Deaton replied, not sounding at all convinced by Derek’s argument. “I’m just asking that you understand what Stiles is going through, before you break his heart all over again.”

Derek remained silent as he let Deaton’s words sink in.

“I recommend that you keep from Stiles until the baby is born,” Deaton instructed as he paused by the estate’s main doors. “It’s not likely that he would have another episode, but the smell of your scent mixing with Lady Argent’s will cause him minor distress, without him even realizing it.”

“And what about Peter?” Derek questioned.

“Peter won’t hurt the baby,” Deaton offered. “And as long as Stiles is with child, Peter would never lay a hand on him—violent or loving.”

“So you recommend leaving a pregnant Omega in bed alone until he has his child?” Derek nearly snapped.

“Unless you wish to take the role your uncle won’t, and sit by his bedside, then yes,” Deaton replied. “Unless you are offering to send Lady Argent away, and scrub her scent from your skin and clothes, Stiles needs to be left alone. Being bombarded by those smells, and the reminder that you reject him as a mate, is more dangerous to him than the absence of an Alpha’s presence.”

~*~

Derek sat by the fireplace, Stiles’ last letter addressed to him weighing heavy in his hand. He had forced himself to stop reading the letters, unable to listen to the happiness Stiles projected. He wanted nothing more than to share that with him, but was terrified to admit that he knew he was desperate to have that with Stiles. He lied to Isaac when he asked Derek whether he read Stiles’ previous letters—he had kept them stored away in his locked box. In the end, he was still desperate to steal his uncle’s Omega away.

Derek’s hands were shaking as he tore the letter’s seal open, forcing himself to read the letter. He owed Stiles more than this, but it was a start.

_Lord Hale,_

_I wish to apologize for words spoken in former correspondences. The manner in which I had addressed you was inappropriate, and I see that now. While I believed my intentions to be pure in thought, they were lacking in propriety._

_It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable. You’ve sacrificed enough on my behalf, and I returned your generosity—for which I am forever grateful for—with pestering._

_I interpreted interactions between us incorrectly. You gave no outward signs of interest, yet my assumptions lead me to believe there was something to be salvaged. I have made a fool of myself—the fault of a silly Omega, overjoyed with the exciting prospect of a child on the horizon._

_I only ask that you forgive my folly, and allow me the dignity of feigning ignorance the next time we meet._

_Respectfully,_

_Omega Hale_

It was formal, a complete change from Stiles’ former letters. It was the difference between who Stiles truly was, and who society expected him to be.

And Derek hated that he did this to Stiles.

“You should go to him,” Allison’s voice interrupted Derek’s thoughts.

Derek turned to look at Allison, noticing the packed luggage resting next to her feet. “Where are you going?” He asked, knowing the answer already.

“Stiles is a sweet, kind person,” Allison offered. “It’s not hard to understand why you fell in love with him.”

Derek remained silent, not daring to breathe life into Allison’s observation.

“You offered me a solution to my predicament, Derek,” Allison started with a soft sigh as she moved to take a seat beside Derek. “And it was so easy for me to say yes, without sparing a second thought to what this would do to you.”

“Allison, I offered—”

“I know you did,” Allison stopped Derek from silencing her concerns. “But you are so focused on covering up what you feel for Stiles, that you can’t see how this is harming not only Stiles, but you as well.”

“By taking myself away from Stiles and the situation, it will make things easier for him,” Derek faintly argued.

“You know that’s not true,” Allison countered. “He’s hopelessly in love with you, Derek. And that love—that _hope_ he has that someone will cherish him, makes his life bearable.” She looked at Derek, a small frown pulling at her lips. “It’s no secret how Peter treats him,” she offered. “People pity him, whispering about the waste of a good Omega,” her features soured some, despising the way people referred to Stiles and every other Omega as nothing more than an object. “Being in a loveless marriage isn’t healthy. But just being able to spend time with you has already shown to be fruitful for him.”

“He could have lost the baby,” Derek argued.

“Because he’s emotionally upset,” Allison answered. “I’ve had you to be around these past few months, Derek. But if I had to go without the presence of an Alpha, I’m not sure I would be in good health. I’m not sure what would happen to me if I had to endure the knowledge that the Alpha I love—the Alpha’s whose child I was carrying—had another, and claimed to feel nothing for me.”

Derek hesitated before uttering, “I promised to help you, Allison.”

“And you’ve kept your word,” Allison answered. “But this isn’t your burden, Derek. _We_ are not your burden,” she corrected herself as she trailed her fingers over her stomach in reference to her baby. “I know that I will always have you for a friend should I need anything. But I can’t marry you—not when I know how you care for Stiles.”

“My care for Stiles means nothing,” Derek argued.

“Not to him,” Allison corrected. “And you shouldn’t lie to yourself about how deeply you care for him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek gruffly answered. “Stiles is my uncle’s Omega, not mine.”

Allison frowned. “It was a decision Stiles didn’t choose.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Allison,” Derek tiredly replied.

“Your uncle is rarely home,” Allison offered.

Derek turned his attention towards Allison. He carefully observed her. “Are you saying I play being his Alpha while my uncle is away?”

“We only live once, Derek,” Allison replied. “And you love each other. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“He deserves better than my uncle,” Derek answered, running his hand through his hair. “He deserves better than me.”

Allison turned her body towards Derek. “I know that Stiles has a strong and brave soul. From the stories the servants tell, he would do anything for those that he loves. And whether you think you are worthy of it or not, he values you. And if I had the slightest chance to be with the person I loved, whether they were my Alpha or not, I would take that chance. Stiles is no different.”

Derek looked down at the gloves Allison deposited into his hands.

“These don’t belong to me,” Allison explained. “Stiles has been nothing but kind, showing how deeply he cares for you, going as far as to give his one gift from Peter to me, all because he believes you care for me.”

Derek held onto the gloves tightly, wishing he had known Peter still kept such trinkets from before the fire. He wondered what else Peter had hidden away, curious what else he could get back. He thought about how the gloves had looked on Stiles this night, the white elegantly covering the Omega’s arms. He wished he had the courage to tell Stiles to keep the gloves. He wished he had the courage to say and do a lot of things.

“He shouldn’t forgive me,” Derek softly murmured.

“That’s not your choice to make,” Allison countered. “That’s no one’s choice but Stiles’.” She faintly smiled as she leaned in to press a kiss to Derek’s forehead. “Tell Stiles the truth, and allow him to make the best decision.”

Derek gently held Allison’s hand as she stood, allowing her to slip from his hold as she moved towards her luggage. “And where will you go?” He asked.

“Lady Martin has offered her carriage to me,” Allison explained. “I’m going to go home, and hope my father can be reasoned with where my mother cannot be.”

Derek faintly nodded.

“Write to me,” Allison stated. “Let me know how long it takes for you both to forgive yourselves enough in order to be happy.”

~*~

Stiles smiled at Erica, thanking her for bringing him another book from the library. He had grown accustomed to having more than enough time to browse the collection in his solitude. He never thought he would be forced into bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy. He didn’t dare move more than necessary for fear of harming his child.

A knock at the door was the first sign of a visitor since Peter left early that morning.

“Come in,” Stiles called as he accepted the book from Erica.

Erica made a displeased sound when she realized it was Derek.

Stiles looked at Derek, releasing a sharp breath in desperation to keep from inhaling his scent.

“Deaton said that the young lord wasn’t to be disturbed,” Erica stated to Derek, taking her place between him and Stiles.

“It’s okay, Erica,” Stiles answered. “Deaton told me to rest, and I am resting.”

Erica bit her tongue, annoyed with Stiles’ infinite kindness to those he deemed worthy, even the most undeserving. She gave a slight curtsey to Stiles, moving to leave them alone. She paused by Derek’s side, catching the absence of Allison’s scent from Derek. She was curious about the implication, but still took her leave.

Stiles placed the book Erica gave him onto his bedside table, shuffling his weight some to accommodate the pain in his back. He looked at Derek, watching him for a sign that he was going to speak.

Derek cleared his throat, trying to remember the lines he rehearsed to himself earlier that morning. He decided to take the seat next to Stiles’ bed, far enough away that he wouldn’t overwhelm Stiles’ senses.

“Did your exams go well?” Stiles asked, trying to make the awkward silence dissipate.

Derek faintly nodded. “They did, thank you,” he answered.

Stiles nodded, looking down at the blanket covering his lap. He played with the fabric of the blanket, wrapping his fingers in the material. He made a faint sound when the baby kicked at his stomach.

“How are you doing?” Derek asked, catching sight of Stiles’ actions.

Stiles looked up at Derek. “The baby is well,” he answered.

“I asked about you,” Derek corrected Stiles.

Stiles paused, unsure how to answer. “I’ve … I’m not used to people asking that,” he decidedly answered. “But I’m as well as can be expected. I suppose that will have to do.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in partial annoyance. “You shouldn’t have to settle for the mediocre. You should be treated better than just a vessel.”

Stiles looked at Derek in surprise. “I never expected Peter to care about me,” he offered. “But his casual indifference … and care for our child’s wellbeing is a surprise.” A blush burned across his cheeks, realizing his word choice held more truth than he had meant.

“I owe you an apology,” Derek started, unable to deny the fondness he felt at hearing Stiles utter the words ‘our child’ in front of him. “I never should have spoken to you in the manner I did the other night.”

“You had a right,” Stiles countered. “I was out of line to speak about Lady Argent in the way I did.”

“No, you weren’t, and I had no right to say what I did,” Derek argued. “Besides,” he looked at Stiles. “The child isn’t mine,” he finally confessed.

Stiles stared at Derek in confusion.

“Allison has been a dear friend,” Derek offered. “And when she told me of her situation, I offered my help—a disguise, of sorts. But Allison and I were never …” His gaze briefly glimpsed at Stiles. “We never touched each other intimately.”

Stiles’ eyes widened in minor surprise. “Why are you telling me this?” His voice sounded both hopeful yet terrified at the answer.

“I think you know why, Stiles,” Derek softly answered.

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, a slight huff of surprise taking breath from his words. He reached a hand down, pressing against the slight discomfort of the baby pressing into his lower abdomen.

“Are you … both alright?” Derek asked, unsure how to address such a question that displayed concern for them both.

“Yes,” Stiles answered, turning an eye on Derek. “She’s just kicking.”

Derek looked down at Stiles’ stomach, a small smile tugging at his lips when he saw the movement even beneath the blanket.

“Would you …” Stiles bit his lip, unsure if he even deserved to ask such a thing. “You can feel her move, if you wish,” he decidedly offered, knowing that it was bordering on the edge of highly inappropriate. A lightness blossomed in his chest when Derek faintly nodded. He reached for Derek’s hand with ease, guiding Derek’s open palm to the curve of his stomach. His hand covered Derek’s as they patiently waited for their baby to kick once more.

Derek smiled when he felt the soft kick against his hand. “He’s lively,” he commented when another kick followed the first.

“She,” Stiles softly corrected Derek.

Derek looked up at Stiles in admiration. “You think it’s a girl?”

Stiles barely shrugged in reply. “I can’t explain it,” he answered. He refused to breath life into his fear that a male child would look too closely to Derek—that he hoped for a little girl, one that looked like Talia, as Derek did.

“Can I be as bold as to ask if I may stay here with you?” Derek asked, looking up at Stiles.

Stiles looked at the door, a nervousness building in his chest. “If Peter knew—”

“He thinks I’m watching over what is his,” Derek answered, a response he hoped calmed Stiles more than anything. “He’s too arrogant to realize that I have my own reasons for asking to stay with you.”

“And those are?” Stiles asked as his gaze fell on Derek. He wanted to know—he wanted to hear it said at least once in his life.

Derek placed his mother’s gloves on the edge of the bed, a small offering for Stiles to take.

Stiles looked down at the gloves, drawing in a steady breath. “Why?” He quietly asked.

“Because despite my best efforts, and cruel attempts to shove you away, it only made this ache in my chest worse,” Derek confessed. “Because I’ve realized that I’ve never wanted anything more than I’ve wanted you.”

Stiles released a shaky breath, unable to believe that he could truly be hearing Derek speak such words.

“I could turn my back on him,” Derek continued. “I could kill him for what he’s done to you.” He closed his eyes, faintly shaking his head when he realized that he couldn’t blame Peter for everything. “For what I’ve _let_ him do.”

Stiles reached his hand out, his fingertips brushing against Derek’s beard as he cupped Derek’s cheek in the palm of his hand. “Don’t,” he softly demanded, watching the way Derek leaned into his touch. “He’s still your family—your pack. You’ve done more to protect me from him than you should have.” He placed his hand against his stomach, thoughts of what life could have been. “I wished it was you … for so long, I wished that.”

Derek effortlessly leaned forward, pressing a delicate kiss to Stiles’ lips.

Stiles welcomed the touch, and every unspoken word of devotion it confirmed.

~*~

Derek returned to the house shrouded in chaos. He had been gone for only a few days, running the errands his uncle forced him to complete for him. He had been so reluctant to leave Stiles, even when the Omega bid him to go with a soft smile of understanding. He was surprised when Stiles had been more giving and demanding in the kisses he bestowed on Derek as they parted.

Servants were scurrying about, too preoccupied with their current chores to even notice Derek’s arrival.

Derek made his way through the house, searching for a sign that someone would tell him what was happening. An icy chill ran down his spine when a servant hurried passed him with bloodied sheets in her arms. He quickly moved down the hallway, rushing towards the room where Stiles was. His footsteps faltered when he heard the loud cry of a baby.

“Wait,” Stiles’ voice faintly called out to the servant carrying the crying bundle out of the room.

“She has to be cleaned, Stiles,” Deaton’s calm voice explained to him. “And then she will be presented to Peter.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t get to hold her,” Stiles partially whined.

“I’ll have her brought to you once Peter has seen her,” Deaton offered, still busying himself with Stiles’ health.

“Lord Hale,” one of the servants stated in surprise when he noticed Derek lingering by the doorway.

Stiles looked up at the doorway, dark circles evident around his sunken eyes. He looked surprised to see Derek, despite his hopes that Derek would be present.

“No one rode out to tell me,” Derek offered the explanation to Stiles’ silent question as to why he was late.

“With respect, Lord Hale,” Deaton started without turning an eye towards Derek. “With Alpha Hale here, no one saw the point.”

It was a harsh and direct way in reminding them both that the baby may have been Derek’s blood, but was never to be claimed as his own.

“On behalf of your uncle, we’re both glad you’re here,” Stiles faintly countered Deaton’s previous statement.

Derek dared to take the necessary steps towards the bed, standing beside Stiles as he took his hand. It was a gentle, reassuring touch—one that Stiles greatly needed. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise.”

Stiles faintly smiled. “You’re here now,” he tiredly answered. His eyes fluttered as he struggled to stay awake, determined to see his little girl.

“Sleep,” Derek faintly uttered. “You’ll see her when you wake.”

Stiles looked at Derek with uncertainty. He was scared that he wouldn’t see his daughter once Peter saw her—once Peter deemed her inadequate.

Derek brushed the sweaty hair from Stiles’ forehead, grabbing one of the fresh washcloths from the water basin beside the bed. He laid the cool cloth against Stiles’ forehead, catching the look of bliss the small gesture gave Stiles. “I’ll bring her to see you,” he offered when Stiles stubbornly tried to stay awake.

“Thank you,” Stiles faintly mumbled, his eyes closing as sleep took over.

Derek kept his hold on Stiles’ hand, eyes focused on Stiles’ face. He bent down, uncaring that Deaton would see the evidence of his feelings for Stiles as he pressed a faint kiss to Stiles’ warm cheek.

Silence passed through the room before Derek pushed himself to let go of the moment. He had to see to their daughter—he had to placate his uncle.

“Where’s my uncle?”

“Waiting for his son to be presented to him,” Deaton sighed.

Derek clenched his teeth, annoyed with his uncle’s disregard for Stiles. “And when he sees the baby is a girl?”

“Your uncle is unpredictable,” Deaton merely replied. “I would say that it would be wise for you to be present when he sees the girl.”

Derek silently kept his eyes on Stiles’ sleeping form.

“Stiles will be fine,” Deaton added. “He is resting, and there is nothing you can do to help with that. You are needed elsewhere, I would say.”

Derek reluctantly released Stiles’ hand, turning back towards the door.

“And Derek,” Deaton called, turning to look at the young Alpha as he paused at the door. “You know your uncle to be a proud man,” he started, a critical eye observing Derek. “Pride can turn a person into a hideously vengeful creature.”

Derek stared back at Deaton.

“Hide your feelings well,” Deaton finally warned. “Should Peter ever discover the truth, there are two people you deeply care for that he can now hurt.”

~*~

Derek stood outside the parlor room his uncle currently inhabited. He was the one that made the door inaccessible when the servant tried to bring the baby to see Peter.

“I was ordered to bring Alpha Hale his heir,” the servant dutifully informed Derek.

“That’s alright,” Derek countered, reaching his arms out to take the baby. “I’m my uncle’s second,” he reasoned with the servant when she hesitated in handing over the baby. “I brought him his Omega, and I will bring him his child,” he firmly stated, daring the servant to not hand over the baby.

The servant reluctantly moved to give the baby to Derek, situating her arms to make it easier for Derek to cradle the baby in his own.

The baby was smaller than Derek thought she would be. She was sleeping, her tiny face scrunching up every now and again as she fought against waking. She turned into Derek’s chest, wanting to stay there.

Derek nestled her against his chest, happy to keep her there. He felt a protectiveness pull at his heart, his wolf’s instincts snarling at him in a demand to keep the baby safe—safe from Peter. He wanted nothing more than to bring her back to Stiles, to wrap himself around them both.

Derek opened the door, not bothering to announce himself to his uncle as he entered the room. He carefully observed his uncle, noting how preoccupied he looked at doing nothing.

Peter turned his attentions towards Derek, his eyes immediately falling to the silent bundle in his nephew’s arms.

“You have a child,” Derek announced, refusing to move in order to hand the child over.

“Healthy?” Peter asked.

“Don’t you want to see her for yourself?” Derek challenged.

Peter’s eyes flickered to the bundle in Derek’s arms. He took a step forward, gesturing for Derek to hand her over.

Derek reluctantly moved to give Peter the baby. He was surprised how gently Peter took her from his arms.

“Don’t be surprised,” Peter commented, catching the look on Derek’s face. “I held you and your sisters after you were born.” His words faded as he looked down at the baby in his arms, a look of stoicism falling over him. “She’s … She looks like your sisters did. And even you, if I’m honest,” his gaze briefly looked over at Derek. “Strange.”

“What is?” Derek asked, refusing to panic over such a small comment.

“Having another Hale,” Peter remarked, looking down at the baby. “Since the fire, I was convinced there would never be another Hale child growing up in these rooms. At least not my child,” he commented.

For the briefest moment, it felt as if the fire had never happened. Today was just another day to celebrate family, another day that was going to strengthen their dwindling pack. And within the flash of a moment, it was gone.

The baby cried out, no doubt confused as to why she was being handed from person to person, suddenly brought into the bustling world from her safe haven.

“And that’s the same unpleasant noise you made as well,” Peter commented, his features twisting with displeasure at the noise.

“Perhaps she misses Stiles,” Derek offered.

“I suppose it could be true,” Peter replied. “Perhaps an Omega connects with their child on an emotional level we Alphas can’t understand.”

Derek held himself back, wishing to argue against his uncle’s generalization. He did not place himself in the same category as Peter, knowing that he already held a fondness for the baby, despite how little he was able to hold her.

“Take her back to him,” Peter instructed as he moved to hand the baby off to Derek. “Tell him I’ll pick a name in time.”

Derek’s features twisted in distaste for Peter’s exclusion of Stiles. He happily accepted the baby back, altering his hold on her as he settled her safely in the nook of his arm. “Why don’t you let Stiles choose her name?” He dared to ask his uncle.

Peter turned an eye towards Derek, observing him. “That would be inappropriate.”

“We are an inappropriate pack,” Derek countered.

Peter released a huff of laughter. “I suppose you are right, nephew. It would likely make the boy feel important.”

Derek bit his tongue, wishing to tell his uncle the truth—Stiles was the only reason the baby existed in the first place, his body enduring to create and nurture a new life. He wanted to yell that Stiles was more important than either of them.

“I’ll speak to him about it later,” Peter finally stated.

Derek nodded in acceptance, leaving the parlor and his uncle behind. He carried his daughter back to Stiles, holding her close to his chest.

~*~

Stiles woke peacefully from his sleep, lightly groaning at the dull pain in his stomach as it started to grow. His eyes flew open when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. He turned to look at the sitting figure in the armchair by his bed. He faintly smiled when he realized it was Derek.

“Good evening,” Derek greeted Stiles, looking up at him from the bundle in his arms.

Stiles’ eyes focused on the bundle. “Is she … well?”

Derek looked from Stiles, down to the sleeping face of their baby. “She is very well,” he happily answered. “Peter also received her well.”

Stiles nodded, clearly relieved by such news. “May I hold her?” He asked, reaching a hand out to his baby.

Derek wordlessly stood, moving close to the bed in order to place their daughter in Stiles’ arms.

Stiles smiled as their daughter stirred, moving to accommodate her tiny body. “She’s not too small, is she?”

Derek released a faint laugh. “She’ll grow quickly over the coming months. Soon, she’ll be too grown for anyone to handle.”

“I hope not,” Stiles replied. “I want to keep her little for as long as possible.” He moved the blanket from the baby’s face, his fingertips tracing along the curve of her cheek. “Has Peter named her?”

Derek shook his head. “Peter offered to allow you the honor of naming her.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek. “I know that to be a lie,” he faintly countered. “Peter would never allow that honor to slip away from him.”

“He saw reason when I spoke with him about it,” Derek commented.

Stiles nodded, looking down at their daughter. “Thank you for that,” he offered. “I had the strangest names chosen for her. Random and some outrageous.” He faintly laughed. “But there was one I couldn’t stop thinking about— but I didn’t want to be inappropriate.” He looked up at Derek. “I know Peter would hate it, but it’s your opinion I care about.”

Derek slowly nodded in understanding, his breath catching in anticipation.

“I wished to name her Natalia, after your mother,” Stiles confessed, his eyes turning to their baby when she made a soft cooing noise before grabbing at Stiles’ fingers.

“I would like that,” Derek admitted, admiring the image Stiles and their daughter made before him. “Very much.”

Stiles smiled up at Derek. “Thank you.”

~*~

Stiles tried to keep from asking Derek about Allison. He wanted to know more about the Argents and why Peter had reacted the way he did when meeting Allison. But he feared pushing his boundaries with Derek.

It was a quiet evening, the only sound outside being the faint rain falling against the closed windows. Derek was sitting at the desk opposite the large glass doors that lead out towards the gardens. He snuck small glances to look at Stiles, faintly smiling as he watched Stiles rocking Natalia back and forth in the rocking chair he had convinced Peter to purchase.

“How do you know Allison?” Stiles asked, Natalia resting safely in his arms. He cradled her in the nook of his arm, concerned above all for her safety. He smiled down at her, unable to believe he could have had a moment of happiness like this before having her.

“I told you, she’s a friend,” Derek replied, looking up from the letters Peter had sent him.

“But she’s an Omega,” Stiles answered, looking up at Derek. “I just didn’t know how you met her.”

Derek’s eyes looked to Natalia, watching the way she soundly slept in Stiles’ arms. He knew that the moment Stiles set her down, she would start crying as she always did whenever Stiles wasn’t holding her. “The Argents were … they were a pack acquainted with us.”

Stiles heard the pauses in Derek’s voice, the unspoken pain that was hidden beneath Derek’s calm features. “Okay,” he softly replied, not wishing to push Derek.

“It’s a story that Peter prefers to be buried and forgotten,” Derek explained, realizing that Stiles had been denied the truth about the pack’s past.

“Unlike the rest of his past,” Stiles hollowly replied.

Derek looked at Stiles, drawing in a steady breath. “The Argents are a powerful pack,” he started as he placed the letters down on the desk, knowing he wouldn’t be answering Peter’s letters this evening. “They hold a similar aristocratic standing as us, though not as highly stationed. They aren’t held in as favorable light anymore—at least not since the Hale fire.”

Stiles looked at Derek, his features sinking some. “You don’t have to tell me this, Derek,” he faintly offered.

“I want to,” Derek replied, looking down at his hands. “I’ve never been allowed to speak about this with someone else, but I’ve always wanted to. It’s just … difficult.”

Stiles nodded in understanding.

“It’s uncommon for an Alpha and Beta couple to have an Alpha born to them,” Derek explained, turning his attention away from himself and away from Stiles. “My mother and father thought they were only going to have one child. But then they just kept letting their family grow. And in the end, Laura and I both presented as Alphas, and it was considered another accomplishment accredited to being a Hale.” He closed his eyes, releasing a heavy sigh. “Naturally, my parents wanted to keep with tradition—to pick a prestigious marriage for their children, ones that would guarantee further accomplishments to tack onto the Hale name. And being the foolish teenager I was, I rejected the idea.”

Stiles frowned as he watched Derek pause his thoughts. He noticed that look of regret, having caught his father displaying such a look more often than not. He knew what it felt like to wish he could go back and correct a wrong.

“I chose someone for myself,” Derek offered in explanation. “An Omega.”

Stiles’ features fell, his eyes looking down to Natalia. He knew Peter’s hatred for Omegas stemmed from some deep-seated place in his heart, but he never guessed it had to do with Derek’s choice in partner. He wondered, should Natalia present as an Omega, if Peter would treat her with the same distain—if he would reject her from the pack.

“Did she die in the fire, too?” Stiles carefully asked, afraid to cross any unspoken line he had yet to see between them.

Derek still remained silent as he pulled his attention back to Stiles. He observed Stiles’ features, finding himself admiring the Omega even more for his kindhearted nature, and his ability to give even strangers the benefit of doubt. He was happy that Peter had not robbed Stiles of that. “She started the fire.”

Stiles’ features slipped into disbelief, his eyes widening. “How … how could she do that?” He uttered, his voice raw with confusion—unable to understand how someone could have possibly done such a horrid act, especially to someone they cared for.

“She hated us—thought that we were beneath her,” Derek offered. “I’m not sure her reasoning, but in the end, it doesn’t matter why she did it. She just … did,” he hollowly stated.

Stiles moved with little difficulty, standing up to gently place Natalia in the small transportable crib. He gently shushed away her whimpers, rocking the crib to guarantee that she would lull back to sleep. He walked over to Derek when he realized that Natalia was going to stay sound asleep. He reached a hand out, his touch soft and loving as he cupped Derek’s cheek in his open palm.

Derek pressed into Stiles’ touch, reaching out to pull Stiles in closely. He pressed his face into Stiles’ stomach, closing his eyes as he let Stiles comfort him.

Stiles hugged Derek’s head against his stomach, his fingers gingerly running through Derek’s hair in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He curled his body as he leaned down to press a kiss into Derek’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he softly uttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to say, please give Derek time. More and more of his intentions and behavior will be revealed in future chapters. In the end, just remember that Derek is struggling with what to do--what is right in pack standards, and what is right in his heart.
> 
> I'm sorry if you are angered by Derek's actions, but as usual, this fic is mainly from Stiles' POV and not Derek's. I'm trying to get more and more of Derek's POV written in.
> 
> Also, if it wasn't 100% clear, Allison's baby is NOT Derek's. They never had an intimate relationship, Derek was merely signing himself away to being in a relationship with Allison to save her from being cast out by her pack and family for being an unmated/unmarried pregnant Omega. They did share a bed together for a while (off screen), in order to share each other's scents.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for marital rape and domestic abuse. Explanation in the a/n at the end of the chapter.

Stiles smiled as he chased Natalia around the room. He laughed as Natalia released a high-pitched yell of joy and excitement as she tried to get away from him. He enjoyed the spring’s night breeze that pushed its way through the opened balcony doors, the soft gust keeping the house cooler.

Peter had been kinder in the months since Natalia’s birth. He gave Stiles his own room, connected with a smaller room that would serve as Natalia’s when she was old enough to be left on her own. He didn’t take entitlements with Stiles’ bed, leaving Stiles to raise Natalia on his own.

Stiles smiled as he grabbed Natalia, scooping her up in his arms as she released a loud series of giggles.

A loud crash startled both of them.

Stiles turned his body, a protective instinct to put himself between his daughter and the distressed sound. He knew that the visiting Alphas were likely making physical jests with one another—a sport that Alphas seemed to find competitively appealing. He held Natalia close, swaying himself back and forth in order to soothe her into sleep. He admired her for fighting against being forced to go to bed—hoping that her ferocity and determination would equate to other aspects of her life.

Stiles pressed a soft kiss to Natalia’s head when she finally drifted off to sleep in his arms. He eased her into her small crib by his bed, gently depositing her into the fluffed bedding. He smiled to himself as he watched her sleep. He liked to take these moments to admire how much of a Hale she truly looked.

Natalia’s hair was a dark chestnut, with small but loose curls throughout her hair. Her eyebrows were thick and almost as expressive as Derek’s. Her eyelashes were dark lines contrasted against the paleness of her skin. She had a series of moles moving from her cheek and down her neck, and Stiles knew that she would have more appearing the older she became.

Stiles startled when he heard a loud crash in the hallway, followed by voices. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the disregard for the others in the estate, knowing that it was well passed the decent hour for merry making. He opened the door to the hallway, half expecting to see Peter with his next tryst, only to be surprised when he discovered that it was two of the visiting Alphas.

Peter had continued to focus on his work—it was the only aspect of his life that he seemed proud enough to throw his time into. He spent more time with work than he bothered to spend with Stiles or Natalia. He finally had Derek to call a colleague now that his nephew’s schooling was done, which made Derek’s presence around the house an ordinary addition to the estate.

Even with Derek to work with him, Peter had to continue his dealings with some Alphas who had more crass than society dictated someone of Peter’s standing should have to deal with.

Stiles had a distaste for the Alphas the moment he met them, conscious of the way gazes lingered in places they shouldn’t have. He also caught the way one Alpha spoke with Peter about the old ways of taming an Omega—catching the vulgar mention of a contraption called a heat post, meant for breeding. He had heard of such cruel and archaic things, spoken about in terms of barbaric practices that were used before Omegas were cherished by society.

Two such Alphas were the ones that Stiles happened upon in the hallway.

Stiles pulled his dressing gown tightly together, holding it against his chest as he pushed the door closed a little more. But it was too late, he knew that they registered his presence.

“Omega of the house,” one of the Alphas mockingly bowed at Stiles.

“Alphas,” Stiles acknowledged them, prepared to slam his door shut, only to realize that he had no way to lock the door.

“An Omega shouldn’t be alone at night,” the other Alpha noted.

“My Alpha retires when he wishes,” Stiles expertly answered.

“That’s awful rude of Peter,” the Alpha closest to Stiles commented. He had been the Alpha speaking with Peter about new ways to put an Omega truly under his boot. He was also the one that allowed his eyes to linger on Stiles’ throat, and the places Stiles’ clothes tightly laced together.

Stiles released his hold on the door when the Alpha shoved his hand against it. He tried not to jump when the door slammed against the wall, making a loud noise. He could still hear Natalia’s soft, even breathing in her sleep. “I must ask that you please vacate my room,” he firmly stated, his need to protect Natalia greater than his fear.

“Peter has a polite bitch,” the other Alpha snorted.

Stiles startled when the Alpha grabbed his arm, yanking him in close. He reacted on instinct alone, his hand smacking the Alpha across the face when the Alpha’s fingers pulled at the ties of his dressing gown. He tried to pull himself away from the Alpha when he didn’t release him. “Let me go,” he firmly snapped.

“Everyone knows a gracious host shares,” the other Alpha snorted.

“And Peter doesn’t seem to be needing you at the moment,” the Alpha who held onto Stiles spoke, not even affected in the slightest by Stiles’ retaliation.

It all happened too quickly for Stiles to truly register.

Stiles stumbled backwards when he was abruptly released, his back colliding with part of the doorframe. He clutched his dressing gown tightly, watching as Peter held a firm grip around one of the visiting Alpha’s throat.

“You dare to spit on my hospitality?” Peter demanded, his voice low and laced with a darkness even Stiles had yet to hear from him. “You thought you were entitled enough to barge into Omega Hale’s room, where my daughter is residing?”

Stiles realized that this is the most rage Peter has ever displayed towards a guest. He had never seen Peter react with such anger—anger befitting an Alpha protecting what was his own. It made Stiles question the motives behind Peter reacting in such a manner.

“It was a misunderstanding,” the Alpha who hadn’t touch Stiles tried to gage Peter’s anger, conscious of the way Peter’s claws pierced along the throat of the other Alpha. He was trying to get Peter to accept their slight as a miscommunication. “The others have always shared their holdings,” he continued. “Omegas included.”

Stiles’ stomach soured, wishing Peter would give him the right he deserved in naming their fates. “We’re not holdings—we’re not objects to be passed around,” he seethed through his teeth.

“As much as I would like nothing more than to make an example,” Peter started, his claws slowly retracting some. “Your services are needed in the future.”

Stiles wanted to yell at Peter—call him a coward for not punishing such scum.

“I expect you both gone before the morning light shows,” Peter ordered, harshly shoving the Alpha towards his partner in crime.

Isaac, Erica and Boyd arrived almost the exact moment the Alphas were released from their seemingly doomed fate.

“We heard—” Erica started as she reached Stiles, only stopping when she noticed Peter. “Apologies, Alpha,” she offered, slightly bowing her head. “But we heard a ruckus.”

“And were very late,” Peter answered.

“Do you want them gone?” Boyd asked, taking Peter’s attention away from the others. He looked to where Isaac had moved to see to Stiles, only to stop at Stiles’ gesturing.

“Make sure they’re gone before morning,” Peter answered, a tiredness in his voice. “Besides that, you’re all dismissed.”

The three betas briefly shared a look with one another before looking to Stiles. They followed the order to leave only when Stiles faintly nodded for them to go.

Erica sighed, reluctantly taking her leave, gesturing for Isaac and Boyd to follow her. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to sleep now, not while those brutes were still allowed in the house.

Isaac offered a shy smile, trying to give Stiles a hopeful reassurance that it would be okay. Everyone knew that it would improve once Derek returned to the estate.

Boyd was the one to not move from his spot. He carefully watched Peter, waiting for him to leave first. When he realized Peter wasn’t going to leave, he lingered.

“I told you, you’re dismissed,” Peter sharply ordered when he looked at Boyd.

Boyd remained silent and unmoving, causing Erica and Isaac to steadily slow their parting.

“Boyd,” Stiles quickly addressed him when he realized that Peter was turning his full attention towards the Beta.

Boyd looked to Stiles, seeming surprised to be addressed.

“I would like to start introducing Natalia to the horses,” Stiles stated. “I would like for you to help me with that tomorrow.”

It was all a lie to cover up the fact that he wanted Boyd to avoid a confrontation with Peter—that he wanted Boyd to leave in order to keep him from getting hurt.

Boyd understood Stiles’ dismissal, reluctantly nodding his head and moving to join Erica and Isaac. He hesitated when he passed Stiles, only to continue walking when Stiles uttered his thanks.

“I would say I’m shocked that they’ve taken to you,” Peter commented as he watched the Betas disappear. “But then again, Omegas have a way of attracting people to them.”

“I care about them,” Stiles replied.

“Clearly,” Peter dryly stated.

“It’s not improper to get to know those that you share a home with,” Stiles started.

“It is improper to not listen to what you’re told,” Peter countered. “I told you to stay in your rooms. How many times are you going to ignore that order?”

Stiles remained silent, not wishing to have this discussion.

“Why would you open the door to them?” Peter demanded as he turned to look at Stiles.

Stiles looked at Peter, curious if Peter was about to blame him for something he couldn’t prevent. “Honestly?” He tiredly asked as he held the door close to his back, the only force that was keeping his bedroom door from slamming shut. “I thought it was you coming to my rooms. I honestly don’t know why I would think that, but I did,” he offered as explanation.

Peter looked at Stiles than to the broken vase in the hallway. He faintly snorted. “I suppose a drunk stumbling around in the dark is a suitable assumption for my whereabouts.”

Stiles was surprised by this small glimpse he was getting of Peter. And just like everything that happened with Peter, it turned quickly.

“Are you healed yet?” Peter asked, his gaze looking at Stiles once more. “From your childbed.”

Stiles closed his eyes, wishing he could lie to Peter and tell him he hadn’t. He knew Peter would be able to catch the lie, and would just be angry with him for that. “Enough,” he faintly offered. His body became rigid when Peter pushed a hand on the door Stiles had been holding almost shut for the past few minutes. “Natalia—”

“Is asleep,” Peter firmly stated.

Stiles didn’t budge. “No,” he weakly argued.

“It’s amusing that you think you have a choice,” Peter replied, grabbing Stiles’ arm much more sharply than necessary.

Stiles allowed Peter to yank him away from the door, his footsteps fumbling when Peter tried to yank him into the room. He wasn’t strong enough, wishing Derek had been home and that he found him this night. His steps stumbled when Peter shoved him towards the bed, his gaze falling on Natalia’s crib and the sleeping form he knew was hiding beneath the wooden frame.

Stiles forced down the small noise of protest he had when Peter easily gathered the material of his night garments, gathering them to expose Stiles enough. The cold air caused a shiver to run through his body, a feeling of embarrassment hitting him still as he felt too exposed. His legs shook as Peter kicked them apart. He obeyed the rough hand that forced him to bend over the edge of the bed, his fingertips digging into the quilted material he pressed his hands to. He clenched his eyes shut when Peter pushed into him, nothing patient or caring about the action—as always.

It was mechanical, moreso than usual.

Stiles was desperate to keep his mind concentrated on the sound of Natalia’s soft breathing. He prayed that she’d stay asleep, never to know what was happening in the same room as she slept.

Stiles felt the moment Peter stilled, waiting for the telltale signs of a knot forming, the one act of breeding that Peter had forced on Stiles time and again. Only this time, there was nothing.

Stiles’ legs were still shaking when Peter pulled out of him. He felt the material suddenly fall around his body as they once were, hiding from view what just happened. He didn’t want to press his luck by asking what happened—why Peter chose, for once, against knotting him.

“Don’t try to avoid this by hiding behind her again,” Peter spoke in a quiet but low voice, his mouth close to Stiles’ ear to guarantee that he would be heard. “The moment she is old enough, she’ll have her own room, and you will not coddle her the way your parents did you.”

Stiles offered a faint nod, not wishing to fight with Peter at the moment. He was too exhausted.

“And I expect you to understand that we are rebuilding a pack,” Peter harshly stated. “And that takes far more than just one child.”

Stiles waited for Peter to leave, feeling like he was counting for too long. His knees buckled, his body gracelessly collapsing against the edge of the bed. He pressed his face into the quilted bed, trying to smother his tears as his hands tightly gripped the blanket in order to have something to hold on to. He was laying in a heap at the foot of his bed, completely clueless in what to do with himself now that he knew the untarnished truth.

Peter didn’t care that the visiting Alphas wanted to rape Stiles, only that they wanted to touch something that was his—without his permission.

This was a reminder of Stiles’ place.

~*~

Stiles remained silent during breakfast, taking his time to feed Natalia. He smiled when she smiled at him, depositing the spoon of freshly made applesauce into her mouth.

“Must you make faces at her?” Peter commented as he continued to read his papers.

Stiles pressed his lips into a firm line when he looked over at Peter. “Babies react to facial cues,” he merely explained. “If I look solemn, our daughter will grow up looking like a frail portrait.”

Peter snorted at Stiles’ response.

Stiles ignored Peter, drawing his attention back to Natalia.

Peter made a faint noise of interest as he finished reading one of his letters. “Derek will be coming home for the week,” he bothered to announce. “Seems he managed to succeed in getting the Argents to agree to a merger of sorts.”

Stiles looked up at Peter when he mentioned the Argents.

“Appears the boy managed to not insult Chris by impregnating his daughter then cutting ties with her,” Peter mused aloud. “His looks and charms continue to get him far in life.”

“I’ve heard Alpha Argent to be reasonable,” Stiles calmly stated. “Much calmer than his father was.”

“Calm has nothing to do with this,” Peter snapped, his tone a reprimanding one. “Argent owes my family much—his sister practically destroyed everything we are.”

“Derek told me about Kate,” Stiles dared to utter. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for Derek to be sent back to them, to broker a deal for you.”

“You show my nephew more sympathy than he deserves,” Peter replied as he discarded the papers onto the table in front of him. “The foolish boy is the reason you’re even here. If he had managed to keep his knot where it was meant to be, Kate never would have been invited into this house. Things would still be as they were.”

“And Ida and your child would still be alive,” Stiles finished for Peter.

“Yes, they would,” Peter sharply confirmed as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles turned his attention back to Natalia, offering her a small smile when he noticed she was staring at him in slight bewilderment. “I’m sure Derek wishes the same,” he offered.

Derek arrived not long after lunch, having spoken truthfully about the time of his arrival. He tried to keep his eyes away from Stiles and Natalia. He smiled when Natalia immediately reacted to seeing him. He scooped her up in his arms as her hurried steps caused her to almost stumble to the side. He pressed a gentle kiss to Natalia’s temple, hugging her against his chest. He looked at Stiles, catching the sadness in his soft look.

Peter had acknowledged Derek, giving him minor congratulations on his success. He retired to his study in order to concentrate on reviewing the papers Derek brought back.

Stiles wondered if Peter realized that he was leaving him more time with Derek. He frowned when he understood Peter’s near dismissal of them all. He knew that Derek was going to tell him something troubling the moment they stood together in silence.

“I’m going to be gone for a while longer,” Derek quietly admitted as he turned his attention away from Boyd and Natalia. He looked at Stiles, watching the way Stiles’ gaze followed Natalia.

“How long?” Stiles softly asked.

Derek frowned. “However long it takes for me to finish the errands Peter sends me on,” he replied. “I’m not sure how long it will be. But I’m going to try and come back as soon as possible.”

“We’ll miss you,” Stiles uttered as he turned to look at Derek. A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I’m scared to think what will happen when you’re ready to move on and find a pack of your own.”

Derek’s features twisted. “What brought that up?”

Stiles faintly shrugged. “Peter will miss having another Alpha in his pack, losing that power to lean on.”

“I don’t care what Peter will miss,” Derek answered.

Stiles looked at Derek.

“Besides,” Derek started, turning his gaze back over to where Boyd was holding Natalia close enough to one of the mares in order for her to reach a hand out and pet the animal. “I never said I needed to find a new pack.”

Stiles reached his hand out, taking hold of Derek’s. “I’m glad,” he answered.

Derek traced Stiles’ knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I’ll write to you as often as I can.”

“You’ll miss Natalia growing up,” Stiles quietly commented, displaying his concern.

“And I wish I wouldn’t,” Derek replied.

~*~

Their letters weren’t short, but they were more frequent than they should have risked. It only helped to confirm their love for one another even more.

Derek realized something was wrong when Stiles hadn’t replied to his last letter. He hoped that it meant that Stiles was preoccupied with his care of Natalia, not the fear that sunk into him that the worst happened. He worked hard to get everything in order faster than Peter had predicted it would take.

Derek had missed Natalia’s birthday, regretful that he couldn’t have sent more than just the doll he had purchased. Part of him thought Peter saw it as punishing Stiles for daring to ask that Peter delay sending Derek away. He wished his uncle had relented, allowing him to have at least been there to see Natalia turn two.

Every time Derek found a way to return home, he was sent away the next day on another errand. Before long, more than a handful of consecutive months passed.

Eight months, to be exact. Derek had been gone from the house for eight months, missing more than he could possibly hope to gain from just Stiles’ letters.

Natalia was now closer to her next birthday than she had been when Derek first left.

Derek took his time exiting the carriage, folding the necessary papers into the case Peter would need. He turned his attentions towards the small piece of luggage he had stored in the coach with him. The small tote held the letters Stiles sent him, the music sheets he chose for Stiles and the children books that reminded him of Natalia.

Boyd was the one that greeted Derek, helping him leave the carriage behind. He offered very little knowledge to Derek about what has happened and transgressed in his absence. “We’re just glad you’re home,” he offered.

Derek wasn’t expecting any kind of celebration upon his return, but he had hoped that he would be at least welcomed in a joyful manner. He kept the small tote in his hand as he walked down the halls of the estate, seeking out the soft melody he heard coming from the ballroom. Part of him wondered if Peter even thought about having the piano moved to another room in order to accommodate Stiles. He paused by the doorway to the ballroom, looking into the large ornately designed room.

Light brightly streamed in through the large glass doors that lead out to the garden. The room was larger than most estate’s ballrooms, a small fact attributed to the magnitude of the Hale pack before the fire. The light showered over the piano, drawing all the attention towards the figure sitting at the instrument.

Stiles sat on the piano bench, his fingers expertly dancing across the keys of the piano with ease and familiarity. His arms bracketed around Natalia as she sat silently in his lap, her eyes following Stiles’ fingers as he played the simple melody.

Derek was content to listen, not wanting to disturb the scene before him. He smiled to himself when Natalia applauded Stiles upon the finishing notes.

“Again,” Natalia stated in excitement.

Stiles released a light laugh, pressing a faint kiss into her hair. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for that,” he answered.

Natalia’s features twisted into a saddened expression. “I don’t want to,” she concluded, as if she had already argued against it.

Stiles frowned. “I know, sweetie,” he started, gently pulling her hair from her face as he tucked it behind her ears. “But it won’t be for long. And once you’ve grown tired, we can retire for the evening.”

“Father … Alpha said it wasn’t okay,” Natalia corrected herself, remembering how Stiles always corrected himself in addressing Peter.

“I spoke with him,” Stiles replied. “And he agreed, since he won’t be there now, that we don’t have to stay longer than necessary.”

Natalia released a heavy sigh. “Why do we have to go?”

Stiles frowned, not knowing how to explain it to Natalia. “It’s expected of us.”

Derek knocked on the ballroom’s door, the sound echoing softly off the walls in a softer tone.

Stiles and Natalia both looked to the source of the noise, looks of surprise befalling both their features. Natalia slipped from Stiles’ lap, rushing towards Derek with a look at joy and relief. Her steps fumbled slightly as she drew closer, as if her brain was processing something she just remembered moments before reaching Derek. She stood only a few feet from Derek, her body still as she stared at him before curtseying.

Derek could tell his confusion was evident when looking at his face. He watched as Natalia fumbled to step out of her curtsey, watching the child’s hands wring at her skirts. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he offered, not knowing what to say.

“Sweetheart,” Stiles started, his footsteps light as he made his way across the floor and towards Natalia. “You don’t have to bow to Derek.”

Natalia’s features twisted as she looked at Stiles. “But he’s an Alpha.”

Derek stilled his reaction to flinch at such words.

Stiles released a saddened sigh as he moved to kneel in front of Natalia. “You don’t have to bow to Derek,” he repeated, his hands moving to cup her face. “You’ve yet to present as anything—you too may be an Alpha when you do. But just because you must bow with other Alphas does not mean that all Alphas expect that.”

Natalia turned to look at Derek again, her lips pulled into a quizzical pout.

Stiles took his time to rise, turning his attentions towards Derek as he placed his hands on Natalia’s shoulders.

Derek knew his face was telling when Stiles turned his gaze elsewhere. His brows furrowed in rising anger, his claws itching to grow.

Stiles’ cheek was bruised, the welt yet to heal completely.

Natalia firmly stood between Stiles and Derek when she sensed Derek’s anger. “Are you going to hit Papa?” She demanded, her own anger brewing in her chest.

“Natalia,” Stiles quickly stated her name, his hands pulling her back against him in order to hold her in place.

Derek moved to kneel before Natalia. “No,” he simply answered, his voice heavy with realization.

Peter hadn’t changed since Natalia’s birth. It was all a lie they had told themselves, all in the hopes that it would be a reality. He was just the same as before, treating Stiles with distain and pain.

“I’d never hit your Papa,” Derek elaborated, his gaze leaving Natalia to look at Stiles.

Natalia hesitated before breaking away from Stiles’ hold, rushing into Derek’s. She hugged her little arms around Derek’s neck, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder and throat. “Please don’t leave,” she murmured against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek wrapped his arms around Natalia, holding her close. “I won’t.”

~*~

Stiles had tucked Natalia away in bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He watched her curl onto her side in order to press her face into her pillow. He took his time leaving her room, making his way back to the parlor where he knew Derek was.

Derek turned to look at Stiles when he entered the room. He had silently agreed to keep the conversation steered away from asking what happened to Stiles while Natalia was present. But he couldn’t stop himself now. “What happened?” He simply asked, knowing that Stiles wasn’t going to outright give him the full details no matter what they spoke about.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Stiles started, hoping such a simple answer could ease Derek’s obvious anger. He did, however, allow Derek to touch his chin and move his head for a closer inspection of his bruised cheek. He would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy the intimate way Derek touched him.

“He hit you,” Derek partially growled. “He sent me away for a series of pointless errands, then hit you the moment I was gone.”

Stiles gently touched Derek’s hand, gaining his attention. “He waited a few days after you left, actually.”

Derek gave Stiles an unamused look. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” Stiles hollowly offered, turning his gaze away from Derek as he pushed Derek’s hand away. “He’s been rougher lately—since you left. But this,” he gestured towards his cheek before sighing. “It was right before he left—not even a week ago. He … he was going to hit Natalia,” he finally admitted.

Derek stared at Stiles. “What?”

Stiles started to faintly shake his head. “He thinks I baby her. He was angry that she didn’t want to go to some stupid social engagement—that she didn’t hold her tongue and just accept that she has to go.” He released a heavy breath, placing his head in his hand. “She’s just a child,” his voice shook as he spoke. “He got mad when I got between him and her. I begged him not to do it in front of her … He at least gave me that much.”

Derek closed his eyes, releasing a stressed sigh. “Stiles, I never should have left,” he started.

Stiles shook his head. “You did what your pack Alpha asked you to do,” he replied. His hands settled on Derek’s arms, sure weights that drew their bodies in closer to one another. He didn’t want to give another passing thought to Peter, only hoping that he would stay away longer than before on this current business transaction. He pressed against Derek’s chest, resting his head against the curve of Derek’s shoulder.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles, a reaction to the intimacy of Stiles’ face tucked into the side of his throat. He loosened his grip some when Stiles stirred, allowing Stiles the room to pull away from him.

Stiles pressed an unsure kiss to Derek’s lips, hoping that he’d at least have this. He kissed Derek again when there was no sign of resistance.

Derek pressed into Stiles and the kiss, pliant and willing in giving as much as he received. He missed Stiles. The absent of Stiles’ touch and scent for eight months had been one of the most difficult struggles he had to endure. “Stiles,” he faintly called his name when he felt Stiles’ fingers artfully pulling at the laces of his trousers. “Wait.”

Stiles’ fingers paused, his hands still lingering. “Please,” he faintly pleaded. “It’s been too long since I’ve shared your bed,” his voice only wavered slightly, a type of sadness pulling at his scent when he thought of the alternative.

Derek’s hands slowly trailed along Stiles’ arms before he gathered Stiles’ hands in his own. He tenderly held Stiles’ hands for a moment, reveling in how soft Stiles’ skin still felt. He ultimately pulled Stiles’ hands away from his trousers, holding them between their chests. “We were lucky last time,” he started, voicing his concern as reason for his rejection.

“Lucky?” Stiles bitterly echoed the word.

“You didn’t conceive last time,” Derek bluntly stated, not wanting to use flowery words to hide what he truly meant. He didn’t want Stiles to be forced into sharing Peter’s bed again.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed.

“If you did, you’d have to share Peter’s bed—”

Stiles ripped his hands away from Derek’s hold, abruptly turning away from him in anger.

“Stiles, I’m thinking of you,” Derek pressed, his own voice sounding exhausted. “Please don’t be mad at me for that.” He weakly kicked at the parlor’s armchair—the one Peter always sat in to drink his whiskey and stare up at Ida’s portrait. “You don’t think I want to? That I wouldn’t love to have you sharing my bed? Just being here with you now is more than I hoped for when Peter sent me away. I was counting the days until I would be back here again—until I was with you and Natalia again. But I won’t be the one to force you back into Peter’s bed—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore!” Stiles snapped. His arms were tightly folded over his abdomen as his gaze remained turned away from Derek. His shoulders trembled some, the only sign that he was still holding something back.

Realization burned through Derek’s chest as his gaze fell to looking at Stiles’ stomach. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe, thoughts of the horror Peter put Stiles through suddenly growing worse with every passing second his imagination concocted. Not only had Peter forced him from the house, but the one person who could have deterred Peter—who could have saved Stiles. A chilling paranoia rose, suspecting that Peter could have sent him away to guarantee that Stiles would be pregnant for when he returned.

Derek had given Peter the perfect environment to guarantee that Stiles felt safe and happy. He had given Stiles a child, a pride and joy that only helped to display more of Stiles’ kind and nurturing nature. He had patched up the fractured parts of Stiles’ heart, spending the time with Stiles to guarantee that the estate was a warm and welcoming home, one that only needed a bigger family to fill its empty halls.

“How far along are you?” Derek asked, his voice nearly croaking. He quietly watched Stiles as the Omega remained unmoving.

“I know it’s his, Derek,” Stiles filled the silence that was growing between them. He had hoped and prayed that it was wrong, only to realize that Peter would have his way, once again. “But I wish it wasn’t,” he faintly countered, his eyes clenching tight as he tried to prevent the tears. “I wish it was yours,” he weakly confessed, pressing his hands to his eyes, trying to hide his face from Derek and the shame he felt. “I just wanted the chance to pretend—even if it was just for a private moment.”

Derek immediately stood, and for the briefest moment Stiles feared he was going to leave him alone. Instead, Derek moved towards Stiles, drawing the Omega into his arms. He eased Stiles’ hands away from his face, pressing kisses to Stiles’ face in a calming manner.

Stiles clung to Derek, the tension in his stomach uncoiling like a ball of yarn cast down a staircase. He was unraveling in front of Derek, and it didn’t scare him. He knew Derek would put him back together.

Derek gently reached a hand between them, his palm resting easily against Stiles’ still flat stomach. “This child isn’t his, Stiles,” he reasoned, dipping his head low to press his face against the high curve of Stiles’ neck. “It’s yours. Just like Natalia is.”

Stiles moved to cover Derek’s hand with his own, pressing down firmly in an attempt to make Derek’s surety seep through him.

“And I’ll love this child, as much as I love Natalia,” Derek softly added, moving to press the faintest kiss into Stiles’ hair. He knew he couldn’t keep it hidden forever, not when the silent dance they’ve been both participating in was coming to a close. If he ever saw Peter raise a hand, or even voice, to Stiles or Natalia, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from protecting them.

~*~

Stiles woke in the early morning, eyes blinking open to a darkened room. He looked around the room, catching sight of the fire’s embers still lightly burning. He faintly smiled to himself when he pushed back into the warm body stretched out alongside him. He was aware of Derek’s arm pillowed beneath his head, Derek’s other arm draped over his torso. He placed his hand over Derek’s, moving both their hands over his stomach—just over the small bump that started to take shape.

Derek stirred in his sleep, his arm moving to pull Stiles in closer. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck, breathing in his scent. He pressed kisses to Stiles’ skin, his fingers linking with Stiles’ as he kept their hands over Stiles’ stomach. “Morning,” he yawned, keeping his eyes closed as he marveled in holding Stiles close.

“Morning,” Stiles echoed, the smile evident in his voice.

“Let’s just stay here,” Derek suggested, finally opening his eyes to look at Stiles.

“Natalia will be getting up soon,” Stiles countered, yet not sounding convinced by his own reasoning.

“I’m sure she’ll love to pull Isaac into a game of hide and seek,” Derek commented. “Then to move on to getting Erica to sneak her sweets.”

Stiles turned onto his back, looking at Derek with a faint smile on his lips.

Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles’ lips. “Maybe we could spend the day together,” he started, moving his hand to brush his fingers through Stiles’ hair.

Stiles closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of Derek’s fingers gingerly caressing him. “I love that idea,” he answered. He winced some as he moved his body, turning into Derek.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, making sure to keep his weight away from leaning on Stiles.

“I’m having some back pain,” Stiles offered. “I feel a bit sick, too.” He made a look of discomfort.

“You should have a bath,” Derek replied, pressing a lingering kiss to Stiles’ forehead before slipping out of bed. He was unconcerned about his nudity as he looked for his discarded trousers from last night. He scooped the forgotten material up off the floor, turning as he unfolded the material in his hands. He paused when he saw Stiles looking at him. “What?”

Stiles faintly smiled as he moved to sit up. “I’m admiring the view,” he commented.

Derek didn’t bother fighting his smile as he pulled his trousers on. “I thought that was my line,” he replied, leaning over to kiss Stiles.

Stiles pressed into the kiss, ignoring his fears for what was going to happen when this ended. He didn’t want to think about Derek leaving him, not when they had this. “Where are you going?” He asked when Derek pulled away.

“I said you should have a bath,” Derek answered as he opened the door. “Which means you are going to need hot water.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “Are you going to heat the water yourself?” He playfully asked.

“That was the plan,” Derek answered as he left the room.

Stiles sunk into the bed, wrapping his arms around the pillow, holding the fluffed material against his chest. He buried his nose into the pillow, breathing in the mixed scent of Derek and him. He was scared to have this taken away.

~*~

Derek knew it was foolish to dance with Stiles with so many people present. He knew he shouldn’t do so even if Peter had been present. But in Peter’s absence, he allowed himself the pleasant illusion that he had a right in asking Stiles to dance.

Stiles had hesitated when Derek offered his hand to him. He knew he could decline, citing his concern for leaving a sleeping Natalia on the couch. He wanted to thank Lydia when she offered to continue sitting with Natalia as she rested a hand on the child’s back.

The dance wasn’t one that called for the intimacy of mates. But all the same, Stiles could feel the eyes of the others on them, a constant gaze locked on them as they moved across the dance floor.

Peter had never danced with Stiles, even on their wedding day. And it was obvious that others were still aware of how Alpha Hale decided to treat his Omega when it came to even the simple activity of dancing.

To Stiles, the dance felt more than just right. With the surety of Derek’s hand on his waist, their hands touched lightly as they moved together in steps that both of them had little practice in executing.

It was the first time Derek had allowed himself to dance since the fire. And it had also been the first time he allowed himself to touch Stiles in public.

Stiles had waited until they were in the carriage, well on their way home from Lady Martin’s home. He held Natalia against his chest, his fingers stroking through her hair as he listened to her calm breathing. He was looking at Derek when Derek turned to look at him.

“What?” Derek asked with a lightness in his voice.

“Kiss me,” Stiles softly uttered. He wasn’t sure if it sounded like the plea it was, but he hoped Derek would understand it. He was relieved when a small smile danced across Derek’s lips. He closed his eyes as Derek kissed him, making sure he held Natalia so she wouldn’t get squished between them.

Derek gave a fleeting kiss to Stiles’ lips before pressing their foreheads together. “What was that for?”

Stiles softly shook his head, aware that he could accidentally knock heads with Derek in their current position. “I just don’t want it to go away.” He released a heavy sigh before pressing in for another kiss. He pulled back when he felt Natalia stir against him. He looked down at their daughter, brushing her hair from covering her face in her current position.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave,” Derek commented when he was confident that Natalia was sound asleep once more.

Stiles continued to stare down at Natalia. “I know you said that to make her feel better, Derek. I didn’t take it as a vow.”

“You should have,” Derek corrected Stiles.

Stiles finally looked at Derek, a hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. “You can’t promise that—”

“I’m not leaving the estate,” Derek firmly uttered. He had been working towards this goal since before Natalia was born. He didn’t care about becoming a pack Alpha for any other pack than Stiles and Natalia’s. He itched to take what Peter never should have gotten in the first place—to take it back. “If I have to travel, it will be with Peter, or when he’s not scheduled to be home.”

Stiles stared at Derek in silence as he tried to find the words. “You can’t,” he weakly argued. “He’ll know there’s a reason you’re staying—he’ll figure it out and then—” His throat was dry, his chest twisting in pain as he thought about a life without Derek in it at all. He cherished the times they had, but he feared it all ending with Derek’s death. All because of him.

“I’ve been working on acquiring Betas,” Derek finally explained. “Erica, Isaac, and Boyd always leaned towards me when seeking out leadership,” he thoughtfully paused. “Now so, even more, thanks to you.” He looked at Stiles. “They want you to be happy and safe. I like to think I can protect you, as well as bring you joy.”

“You do,” Stiles answered, his hand touching Derek’s arm. His features twisted as he tried to think of the outcome. A pack’s struggle for power never ended well, especially if the losing Alpha was spared. “Are you going to kill him?”

The muscle in Derek’s jaw tightened. “Killing him would be a kindness compared to what I want to do to him.” He turned his gaze towards Stiles. “Do you … not want me to?”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed, his scent spoiling with a sadness. “I don’t want you to have to kill your uncle,” he truthfully answered. “If Peter meant nothing to you … It would be different.”

“I loved my uncle,” Derek flatly stated. “But the Alpha you married isn’t my uncle—not anymore. He hasn’t been since the fire.” He looked down at his hands, gently pulling the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the scars burned into his skin. “I think I tried fooling myself for a long time, but that didn’t help anyone in the end.”

Stiles placed his hand on Derek’s arm, covering the scars from view.

“I blamed myself for the fire—I let _him_ blame me for the fire,” Derek confessed. “In the end, it was easier to have someone to hate. And it was easier for me to hate myself.” He shook his head. “Peter lost so much, that I rationalized his actions.”

“You lost a great deal, too, Derek,” Stiles replied, his thumb brushing against Derek’s skin.

Derek placed his hand over Stiles’. “Which is why I refuse to risk losing you,” he replied.

Something settled in Stiles’ chest—worry and anxiety broke down, crumbling under the reassurance that what they had wasn’t temporary.

~*~

Stiles had forgone his corset for the day, choosing to wear clothing that made sitting and watching Derek play with Natalia more comfortable and less of a show. He smiled as Natalia released a pleased shriek when Derek managed to catch her in his arms.

Natalia giggled as she wiggled in Derek’s arms, her feet swaying in the air as Derek carried her over to Stiles. “Papa, Derek got me,” she pretended to be upset, unable to keep her frown when Derek blew a faint raspberry on her neck, stealing even more giggles from her.

Stiles smiled at them, glad that they had these moments to share. He reached his arms out to Natalia, smiling when Derek moved closer to set her down beside him. He was grateful for Derek’s show in front of Natalia, keeping her unaware of just how weak Stiles felt.

Stiles was used to the muscle aches and fatigue that took over him throughout Natalia’s pregnancy. But he had never before felt as weak or sick as he did now. He wished Deaton took him more seriously in his worry, knowing that most people saw him as just a fretting parent.

Natalia settled next to Stiles, hugging him tightly as her laughter subsided. “Can we play the piano some?”

Stiles offered a faint smile. “Perhaps a little later? Maybe after dinner.”

Natalia nodded, hiding her disappointment well. “When can we go to town next?”

“Perhaps on a day with nicer weather,” Derek offered.

Natalia looked out the window before looking to Derek. “The sun is shining,” she playfully corrected him.

“But the day is already spent,” Derek replied, moving to kneel next to the chair both Natalia and Stiles shared. “When we head to town, it has to be early enough in the day to guarantee that the sunshine isn’t wasted.”

“That’s silly,” Natalia replied, scooting forward from sitting with Stiles. She reached her arms out to Derek, wanting him to pick her up again.

Derek couldn’t help but giving into her obvious request, lifting her into his arms again. He caught the smile that graced Stiles’ lips, wishing he had the right to press a kiss to those lips. He wished Natalia could know the truth, without the fear that she may say something.

And as if their fate had been written out before them, like all wonderful things, their uninterrupted time together had to come to an end.

Stiles startled in his chair when the doors to the library slammed open. He didn’t have to turn and look to know that it was Peter.

“Uncle,” Derek addressed Peter first, his hold on Natalia tightening when the child practically clung his chest in a silent plea for him not to set her down.

“Nephew,” Peter replied in a low tone, his anger evident. “Or should I bother calling you that still?”

Derek kept his features calm, knowing that any tell could be a dangerous disadvantage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he artfully lied. “Is this you telling me that I’m not my mother’s son?”

Peter scoffed. “No, I’m referring to the general lack of respect you’ve afforded me.”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows.

“Alpha,” Stiles started, turning in his chair to look at Peter.

“I’m not talking to you,” Peter snapped at Stiles without even looking at him. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Stiles drew in a steady breath, turning his gaze to Derek. He made a small gesture for Derek to give him Natalia once more.

Derek easily placed Natalia back in the armchair with Stiles, keeping his hands out in a precautionary gesture as he waited for Natalia to curl up against Stiles.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Natalia, glad that she was quiet enough that Peter would perhaps forget that she was even there.

“Did I offend you?” Derek started in addressing his uncle, moving away from Stiles and Natalia. He didn’t want them to be placed between him and Peter.

“Almost every day,” Peter answered. “But I will say, this offense has to be your worse.”

“If you’d be kind enough to inform me of what you’re talking about, I could then address my fault,” Derek spoke through clenched teeth.

“Rumors that you’re fucking him,” Peter snapped, a minor gesture in Stiles’ direction being the only indicator that Peter was referring to him.

“Peter, please,” Stiles quickly stated, covering Natalia’s ears with his hands even knowing it did nothing.

“I said I wasn’t talking to you,” Peter stated in a louder voice.

A feminine laugh interrupted the tense moment.

Stiles turned in the chair to see none other than the female Alpha from before—the one he had discovered Peter having an affair with.

“You’ll make the child cry, Peter,” she stated in a playful tone. “Should just talk to Derek on your own.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jennifer?” Derek questioned, as if the Alpha’s existence was more unpleasant than inconvenient.

“I was invited, sweetheart,” Jennifer stated with a mocking tone.

“Answer the accusation,” Peter demanded, ignoring Jennifer’s appearance, as if he had been expecting her to interrupt.

“I’m not,” Derek calmly answered.

“And yet, I don’t believe you,” Peter replied.

“Peter, please,” Stiles pleaded again as he stood, forcing Natalia to stand with him. He moved to place himself as an obstacle for Peter to get through in order to reach Natalia should something happen. “This is an absurd accusation. Surely someone wishing to harm our pack conjured this lie.”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer started in a sing-song tone. “You looked awfully comfortable with Derek’s hands on you as you danced.”

Stiles stared at Jennifer before looking back at Peter. “This is about Lady Martin’s party?” He drew in a steady breath, relieved that he had an excuse. “I’m pregnant,” he simply stated.

Peter’s attention moved from Derek to Stiles. He looked the opposite of pleased by that remark.

“I’m a little more than three months along,” Stiles continued, knowing that Peter could do the math as simple as he could. “I felt vulnerable and scared at a party without _you_ ,” he forcefully stated, knowing that it was a bending of the truth. “You were supposed to accompany us that night, but you were deterred because of work. I was forced to be in a room of strangers, with _our_ daughter, without my Alpha. Your nephew took that mantle up to keep other Alphas away.” He shook his head. “He danced with me, Peter, nothing else happened that night.”

Peter looked moved, as if he believed such an occurrence could pass. But his anger wasn’t convinced.

Derek looked over at Jennifer, seeing how pleased she was with herself at seeing Peter preparing to destroy what was left of his pack. He knew Jennifer had shamelessly allied herself with Kali, an associate of Deucalion’s. He wondered if this display was something created by Deucalion—a type of retribution for Peter winning the Omega he had vied for. He knew for certain that even with Jennifer smiling behind Peter now, it was likely to end with both him and his uncle dead, and Stiles being passed on to another Alpha—perhaps Deucalion.

Derek knew what he had to do. He effortlessly moved to stand in front of Peter, gaining his uncle’s attention. He obediently knelt before his uncle, turning his head to the side in order to offer up his throat to Peter.

It was a sign of submission, from a pack member to the pack Alpha.

Derek could see Stiles tensing out of the corner of his eye. He looked up a Peter, keeping his throat on display. “I swear to you, my Alpha, that I did not touch your Omega against your will. I did not take liberties with your Omega. I did not, nor will I, father any child your Omega presents to you.” He stared at Peter, knowing his uncle now had everything he could possibly want. But he knew it was the one way for them all to walk out of this room unharmed. “I swear this to you, as the blood of my blood, and the Alpha of my pack.”

Peter observed Derek, carefully thinking about his words. His answer came quickly.

Stiles released a faint yelp of surprise, startling to force Natalia to look away when Peter’s claws swiped across the side of Derek’s face.

Derek didn’t make a sound, having expected his uncle to inflict more damage than a few claw marks running along his jaw and lower cheek. He had managed to turn his face with the swipe, lessening the damage.

“I forgave your last mistake,” Peter gruffly answered.

Derek nodded, moving to keep his head downturned.

“Never again, Derek.” Peter looked at Stiles, his gaze falling to Natalia, catching the way she was hiding her face against Stiles’ leg. “You’re walking a thin line, nephew,” he uttered as he looked down at Derek. “Don’t disappoint me again.” He turned his back on them, moving to leave the library.

Derek stood when Peter finally left, ignoring the burning pain from the claw marks.

Natalia sobbed into Stiles’ side, clutching onto her father tightly as she hid her face.

Stiles moved with little ease, his body still feeling strained as he picked Natalia up into his arms. He held her tightly, running a hand up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Derek.

They both knew this was bound to happen.

~*~

Derek winced when Erica applied more of the ointment she claimed would help keep his wound from scarring. “It stinks,” he deadpanned as he turned his furrowed brow towards Erica.

Erica rolled her eyes. “Next time, I’ll tell Deaton to add some hints of rose petals,” she mocked as she dabbed more onto Derek’s wound.

“Enough,” Derek almost snapped as he half-heartedly swatted at Erica’s pestering hand.

Erica glared at Derek as she stood poised in front of him. “Do you want to be scarred for life?”

“Too late,” Derek countered as he gestured towards his side, his clothes covering the scars that nearly every person in the pack’s distant social circle knew about thanks to gossiping healers.

“He could have taken your head off,” Erica chastised, her anger subsiding into concern.

“He’s weaker than you think,” Derek commented as he took the jar of ointment from Erica’s hand, moving to set it down on the counter beside him.

“He’s still an Alpha,” Erica countered. “If you hadn’t turned your head—”

“That’s enough, Erica!” Derek snapped. He released a heavy sigh, shaking his head as his body deflated some. “Just … enough, Erica, please,” he weakly uttered. He was angry at himself for letting it get this far—for allowing himself to walk into this situation as blindly as he had. He endangered all of them, not just Stiles and Natalia. It wouldn’t take Peter long to figure out that Derek and Stiles couldn’t have had an affair without the silent agreement of the staff. He wondered how long it would take Jennifer to plant that idea in Peter’s head.

Erica effortlessly hugged Derek, her arms loosely wrapped around him as she leaned against him. “We’re just worried,” she uttered, pulling away from him in order to inspect his features. “We know it’s not going to be easy, but … we’re all here—for you, and Stiles and Natalia.”

Derek allowed a small smile of thanks grace his lips before it fell away once more. He didn’t know how others could still put faith in him to keep them safe when he failed so many times before.

Both of them turned to look at the entrance to the kitchen when they heard someone approach.

Stiles hovered in the doorway, his hands gracefully folded in front of himself as he carefully observed Erica and Derek.

“Stiles, are you alright?” Erica asked, turning towards him. She knew Stiles to never wander the house when Peter was home.

“Fine,” Stiles softly answered. “Isaac appears to have given Peter more alcohol than he should have.”

Derek remembered what Boyd said about Peter only seeking out Stiles later. He wondered if that still held true, even after today’s events.

“He retired to Alpha Blake’s room for the night,” Stiles offered, as if he knew what their curious minds craved to know. “He’ll likely be a handful in the morning. I just wanted to let you know ahead of time.”

Erica nodded. A moment passed before a look of realization fell about her. She gave a polite nod to Derek before turning back to Stiles. “I’ll be sure to rise early enough to curve any damage, then.” She took her leave of them without any prompting necessary.

Stiles took a step into the kitchen, gravitating towards Derek with ease. His dressing gown almost made it seem like Stiles was gliding at a menial pace before he came to stand in front of Derek—much closer than Erica had been. He reached a hand up to touch Derek’s chin, his fingertips delicately turned Derek’s head to the side in order to inspect the claw marks.

“It’s not that bad,” Derek commented, as if he could read Stiles’ thoughts.

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” Stiles answered as he turned his attention towards the jar of ointment resting on the counter next to Derek. His hand never left Derek’s skin as he dipped his finger into the ointment.

“Erica already—”

Stiles arched an eyebrow at Derek, asking him if he was truly going to argue against treatment.

Derek sighed, turning his head even further to put the marks on display for Stiles.

Stiles silently lifted his fingers to the wounds, his fingertips softly spreading the cooling tacky substance over the marks.

“How’s Natalia?” Derek softly asked.

Stiles’ movements slowed before he took in a deep breath, looking down at the jar of ointment. “She’s scared,” he honestly answered, finally looking up at Derek. “She’s terrified that Peter’s going to hurt you again.”

“You know why I did that,” Derek carefully started. He wasn’t certain when Stiles avoided answering him. “Right?”

Stiles released a sigh. “You played to Peter’s pride. It was better than facing his anger head on.”

Derek reached a hand up to touch Stiles. His fingertips trailed along Stiles’ cheek in a tender caress. “I did it because I’d rather he take out his anger on me than on you, or Natalia.”

Stiles reached a hand up to take Derek’s away from his face. “Don’t,” he gently prompted, his hold lingering on Derek. “He could find out.”

“He’s with Jennifer,” Derek countered. “He’s too drunk and too preoccupied to care what happens.”

Stiles frowned. “It doesn’t mean he won’t smell you on me,” he stated as he pulled away from all contact with Derek. “There’s no telling what he’ll do if he actually has proof.” He turned back to the jar of ointment, carefully replacing the lid as he tried to busy himself, conscious of Derek’s gaze on him.

“You’re too good for this,” Derek stated.

Stiles looked up at Derek. “I don’t think most Alphas would agree with you,” he replied. “My case being proved at this very moment by the Alpha that won my hand.”

“He didn’t bring her here to hurt you, or even intimidate you,” Derek explained.

“I don’t care about him, or her,” Stiles firmly stated, not wanting to have this conversation. “I just care about you.”

Derek reached a hand up, forcing Stiles to stop his actions and to look at him. “He did it because he knows I’m stronger than him.”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed. “You said you couldn’t beat him.”

“I wasn’t sure until now,” Derek replied. “He brought another Alpha home with him—one that would side with him should an incident occur.”

Worry settled over Stiles’ features.

“He expected me to reject him as my pack Alpha,” Derek continued. “He wanted me to challenge him. And if I had, at that moment, I would have been outnumbered.”

“Alpha Blake would … she’d help Peter?” Stiles asked.

“She’d help him get rid of me so that it would make killing Peter easier,” Derek corrected Stiles. “She’d do anything to make Kali happy.”

Stiles had heard Kali’s name before, in hushed whispers. He had heard about Deucalion surrounding himself with other Alphas, the building of a pack meant to exude brute force when dealing with matters. “And then I would be … I’d have no Alpha, and could be claimed like any other possession of Peter’s.” He looked at Derek when there was no offered response. He stared at Derek. “And Natalia?”

Derek knew there was no point in lying—Stiles deserved better than that. “They’d kill her.”

“I’d fight them,” Stiles firmly uttered.

“And you’d be valiant in your attempts,” Derek commended Stiles. “That would only make them hold Natalia as a trinket to keep you tamed—wait until you gave Deucalion a child. Then they’d do away with her, or … or worse.” He cleared his throat, feeling the pull in his chest as a lump formed. He didn’t want to think of the atrocities that were still allowed to befall a broken pack.

Stiles shook his head, anger and fear overwhelming him.

“Stiles,” Derek softly started. “I will challenge him,” he firmly stated when Stiles looked at him. “Nothing has changed my mind about that. I will challenge him for the right of pack Alpha, and along with it, the right to be your Alpha.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “He’s your uncle,” he stated, as if it meant more than what Peter had done to them both. “I can’t ask you to kill your only family.”

Derek reached his hands up to cup Stiles’ face, pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. “He’s not,” he uttered with a small shake of his head. “You are.” He brushed Stiles’ stray tears away with the pad of his thumb. “You, Natalia,” he reached a hand between them, placing his palm over the curve of Stiles’ stomach. “And the baby.”

Stiles wordlessly pressed into Derek, slotting his head under Derek’s chin as he curled into him. He hugged him tightly, feeling comforted by Derek’s arms wrapping around him. He was scared—petrified—that they were going to lose everything.

“I’m stronger than him,” Derek firmly spoke as he kept Stiles tucked against him, an echoing statement of resilience—a reminder that he wasn’t going to forfeit against something he could defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marital rape: Peter rapes Stiles; he forces Stiles into his bedroom after two Alphas have threatened to rape Stiles, all despite Stiles' protests, and rapes him in the same room that Natalia is sleeping in. Natalia doesn't wake up.
> 
> Domestic abuse: Peter hits Stiles off screen, and Natalia is aware of Peter's mistreatment of Stiles.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> As always, content warnings are in the a/n at the end of the chapter.
> 
> I'm really excited to see the love and concern this fic creating. I love hearing back from you and do apology for not responding to each and every comment. I do immensely appreciate them, though. And I hear all the little things your thinking, and can't wait for you to read all the plot bunnies.
> 
> This chapter is shorter than normal because of its contents. There is a lot of heavy emotional scenes in this chapter, and I think cutting it where I did is for the best, so that not all the emotions of this chapter aren't lost in the next.

“Have you felt any movement yet?” Deaton curiously asked as he continued his examination of Stiles’ overall health.

“Some,” Stiles faintly offered, his gaze focused elsewhere in the room.

“You should be feeling more as time progresses,” Deaton replied, dropping his hands from Stiles. He carefully observed him before asking, “Is there something you wish to discuss with me?”

Stiles looked up at Deaton. He was about to shrug off his concerns, knowing that no question he had could change his current status. But he deserved answers. “You said that it was impossible for Peter to father children,” he started.

“Next to impossible, it would seem,” Deaton corrected the statement.

“Why now?” Stiles asked. “I’ve never had a real heat with Peter,” he explained.

Deaton sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “Your heat is an exact response to the situation you’re in,” he explained. “Derek is a kind and caring Alpha—young and virile. You both spark a primal instinct in each other, one that preps your body for your heat, and drives him to act as an Alpha should.”

Stiles shook his head. “You make it sound like we’re unusual.”

“For an arranged marriage between an Alpha and Omega, it isn’t rare for the Alpha to soften towards the Omega,” Deaton explained. “Peter still laments his life—regretting that he had to marry again.”

Stiles turned his gaze back to Deaton. “He started fucking me again the minute I was healed enough from my childbed. He clearly doesn’t lament the fact that he believes he has the right to rebuild a pack.”

Deaton frowned at that. “Is that what he said he’s doing?”

Stiles nodded, looking down at his hands as they rested in his lap. “He wants to use me until he has a stronger pack.”

Deaton released a noise of peculiarity, as if he was intrigued by such a development. “He sounds like …”

Stiles looked up at Deaton, his eyebrows furrowing when he realized the healer stopped himself. “Like who?”

Deaton looked at Stiles. “Like Deucalion and his pack of Alphas,” he plainly stated. “Deucalion is known for his mistreatment of the Omegas in his pack, using them as nothing more than a means to breed.”

“Does this mean Alpha Blake is influencing him?” Stiles dared to ask, looking at Deaton.

Deaton carefully observed Stiles. “He’s been spending time with another Alpha?”

“Yes,” Stiles honestly answered. “Alpha Blake was the first one. Now an Alpha named Ennis is here—though he hasn’t taken a sexual attraction to him.”

Deaton frowned. “Those are associates of Deucalion’s,” he commented.

“All the more reason for me to worry,” Stiles softly stated.

“You’ve yet to prove anything but useful to his plans, Stiles,” Deaton countered. “You’ve given him a healthy child to call his own. And now, you have another on the way.”

Stiles looked at Deaton, a hesitation in his action to speak as he looked away once more. “He hasn’t … he didn’t knot me as often as before,” he shyly confessed.

Deaton’s eyebrows furrowed. “Before Natalia, had he always?”

Stiles looked away from Deaton. “Yes.”

Deaton frowned. “And he _explicitly_ said that he planned on using you to rebuild a pack.”

“Yes,” Stiles angrily repeated.

Deaton had a minor look of concern fall over his features. “Perhaps his infertility is worse than I first thought,” he commented. “If he’s losing the ability to sexually perform—” He paused when he saw Stiles’ reaction.

Stiles nervous twiddled his thumbs, nodding vigorously. He looked up at Deaton when the silence fell between them.

“Has he ever _not_ been able to carry through with his intentions?” Deaton carefully asked.

Stiles hesitated before nodding. “A few times. He just … he angrily left, the first time.”

“And the other times?”

“He fell asleep beside me,” Stiles answered. “He blamed it on exhaustion and intoxication.”

Deaton nodded. “I would keep this to yourself for now,” he instructed. “Focus on your health and that of your baby’s.”

“Does this mean that my baby will be weak?” Stiles fearfully asked.

“Would you care if your baby was?” Deaton asked in turn.

Stiles angrily looked at Deaton. “You know I wouldn’t. My children are my pride and joys in life—I love them both, deeply. I’m scared that—” he swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking his head. “I’m scared Peter will find fault with any he finds _weak_.”

“Don’t take to worrying, Stiles,” Deaton replied. “You had no complication with Natalia. There is little to suggest that you would have trouble with this child.”

“And if it’s because Peter isn’t suitable?” Stiles dared to question.

Deaton frowned. “I can only assist the situation should something happen.”

Stiles didn’t bother to try and hide his visible annoyance at Deaton’s lack of advice. “I thought you’d say that,” he solemnly answered.

~*~

Stiles grew sicker as the weeks passed. He worried that he was putting too much stress on Derek, seeing how he would practically jump to his feet if Stiles took a moment to catch his breath.

Alpha Blake had left, only to have another Alpha replace her. And so Peter rotated his guests with extreme precision, as if he knew Derek’s plan.

Derek and Peter didn’t speak unless forced to share the room together. Their attitudes towards one another were unpleasant, an electrified dislike for one another.

And Derek was never alone with Stiles.

Stiles had begged Peter to let him go see Deaton if the healer was not to be summoned to the house. His requests were always met with derision. He tried to keep his worry hidden from Natalia and Derek, hoping that for once, Peter’s dismissal of his concerns was valid.

It wasn’t.

It was a rainy afternoon, and Stiles’ restlessness had gotten the better of him. He had been sitting in the library with Natalia, watching her draw in her notebook as she sprawled out on the ornate carpet. He tried to focus on something beside the growing pain in his stomach. He was used to minor discomfort when carrying Natalia, but this was infinitely worse, which only made him worry more.

Stiles made his best effort to stand with ease, only swaying a little when he got to his feet. He had felt the baby kick only a handful of times in previous weeks, before nothing. He couldn’t hear the faint heartbeat when he focused his hearing, like he had been able to with Natalia. He grew sicker with every day, his body drained of all energy.

Stiles was trying to pace, an attempt to move in order for the baby to shift positions, maybe even kick to let Stiles know all was well and that he worried too much. He suddenly grew lightheaded the longer he stood, his legs wobbling as he struggled.

Stiles stumbled, crashing into the side table. The force of his stumble caused the little trinkets to fall from the tabletop, upsetting the entire setup. He closed his eyes as he tried to calm his breathing and ease the dizziness he felt.

“Papa?” Natalia’s frightened voice called out as she moved closer. She leaned against Stiles’ side as she tried to look up at him. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Stiles lied, turning to look down at Natalia. “I just don’t feel well,” he softly explained. “Can you do me a favor?” He asked, trying to keep his voice calm and playful. He wanted to make it seem like a game instead. “I need you to go find Derek, or one of the Betas. Can you do that, sweetheart?”

Natalia looked scared, not at all convinced that it was a game. “Is it my brother?” She had taken to calling the baby her brother after hearing Peter repeatedly refer to the baby as male.

Stiles softly nodded. “I need you to get one of them, so that we can help your brother, okay?”

“I’ll be back as fast as I can, before you can even count to one hundred, like you always do for me,” Natalia stated in determination. She hugged Stiles’ leg tightly before she turned and took off running as fast as she could.

Stiles lost count, not realizing that he was softly humming the numbers to himself until Natalia yelled out that she was back. He turned his head to see Derek standing in the doorway, a look of concern covering his features. He caught the fast rising and falling of Derek’s chest, a display of how fast he must have hurried with Natalia nestled in his arms.

Derek set Natalia down, placing her next to the doorframe. He knelt next to her, a gentle hand on her shoulder as he spoke. “Just stay right here, incase I need you to go fetch someone else, okay?”

Natalia nodded, her eyes still focused on Stiles.

Stiles tried to give Derek a smile, a small reassurance that he would be fine. But he knew it didn’t work, knowing he was as pale and sickly looking as he felt when concern covered Derek’s features as the Alpha crowded against him.

“What’s wrong?” Derek softly asked as he reached his arms around Stiles to support him.

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied in a soft tone, trying to wipe away the sweat that was gathering around his brow. He didn’t want Natalia to hear his worry, or to see him this way. “But _something_ is wrong.” He took Derek’s hand, pressing it against his stomach. “I haven’t felt the baby move in days. I can’t hear a heartbeat.” He looked up at Derek, knowing that he saw the fear in his eyes. “I’m scared for the worst. But Peter said it’s nothing—just me being a silly Omega.”

“I’ll get Deaton,” Derek stated, a small fear settling in his chest when he realized that he couldn’t sense a heartbeat as he did a few weeks ago. He remembered laying in bed with Stiles, settled between Stiles’ welcoming thighs as he placed a series of delicate kisses against Stiles’ stomach. He recalled the lightness of Stiles’ laughter as he trailed his beard along Stiles’ skin. He wished they could have kept the happiness of that moment.

Stiles tightened his hold on Derek’s arm. He didn’t want Derek to leave—he didn’t want Derek to get into a confrontation with Peter.

“He can’t stop me, Stiles,” Derek knowingly answered Stiles’ concerns. “If I tried to send one of the Betas, Peter would just command them to come back. But he _can’t_ stop me.”

“I know,” Stiles replied, still refusing to lighten his grip on Derek.

“I’ll be quick,” Derek stated in reassurance. “I promise you,” he added, reaching a hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek, turning his head to face him. “I promise you, that I will be back as quickly as I can. With Deaton in tow.”

Stiles looked at Derek, steeling his nerves as he nodded, fully trusting Derek.

~*~

Derek was able to get Stiles into the chair, Natalia standing beside the furniture as she silently watched over Stiles. It didn’t take Derek more than a minute to reach Erica, telling her to get Isaac and hurry to the library to help Stiles.

“What’s wrong?” Erica had asked, her concern evident when she practically tossed the half peeled carrot onto the chopping board to be forgotten.

“It’s the baby,” Derek replied, quickly stepping over to grab his father’s old beaten riding cloak that hung by the door, knowing he had no time to grab his from the foyer. “Stiles is sick, and Natalia is there. I don’t care which one of you sits with him, but please, one of you take Natalia for a walk.”

“Of course,” Erica replied, whipping her apron off as soon as she managed to untie it from around her waist. She rushed out of the kitchen to find Isaac.

Derek called to Boyd the minute he was out of the house, asking him to escort his horse from the stable. He had managed to grab the saddle from its resting place in the barn, turning to head towards the stalls where the horses were kept. He halted his footsteps when he saw Peter standing by the carriage, papers in hand.

Peter was carefully observing Derek, standing idly by the carriage and the visiting Alpha—Ennis.

Boyd had reluctantly obeyed Peter when he ordered him to stand down from that order. The horse’s reins were a light weight in Boyd’s hands as he refused to put the horse back in her stall. His gaze drifted to Derek, curious what he intended.

“And where are you headed in such a hurry, nephew?” Peter hollowly demanded an answer, the papers folding neatly under his arm.

Derek caught the look of amusement on the visiting Alpha’s face. It was another display of power, only this time, Derek wasn’t going to bare his throat.

“I asked you a question, Derek,” Peter stated, unwilling to accept any form of rebellion Derek could afford him in front of a visiting Alpha.

“I’m going to fetch Deaton,” Derek honestly answered, knowing that Peter was going to find fault with that.

“No you’re not,” Peter tiredly replied, sounding annoyed that he even had to address such a problem.

“Your Omega is ill, Alpha,” Derek angrily addressed Peter, knowing that if he couldn’t challenge him now, he could plead on behalf of propriety’s sake. He waited until Peter turned back to look at him. “Your child is at risk of being lost.”

Peter’s expression darkened. “Is that a threat to my child?”

“It’s a fact,” Derek replied. “Your Omega’s health is declining, and the baby will suffer because of that.”

“You overstep your bounds, nephew,” Peter warned him.

“I overstep my bounds for the sake of my pack,” Derek replied, the challenge evident in his tone. He stalked forward, walking passed Peter as he kept an eye on Ennis, aware of the threats closest to him. He placed the saddle on the mare Boyd had brought out of the stall, quickly fastening the leather straps around her torso. He was grateful for Boyd taking over for him, knowing that his hands were shaking too much to fasten the saddle properly.

“I forgave your slight last time, Derek,” Peter snapped. “But I’m not going to let you make another rash decision that could cost this pack—”

Derek whirled around, taking a few steps towards Peter. He was furious, his anger for Peter as well as his concern for Stiles were tearing at his instincts, screaming at him to protect his pack. “How is retrieving a healer a _rash_ decision?”

“He’s a stupid Omega,” Peter snapped.

“He’s not stupid, uncle!” Derek yelled back. “For once in your life, accept that you are wrong about something. It is his body, and he knows when something is wrong.”

“He’s defective,” Peter countered.

Isaac’s steps were rushed as he nearly fell down the small steps leading from the house. “We need a healer, now!” He yelled as he came to stumbling stop by the stables.

“What now?” Peter snapped. “More cramps that he can’t stand the ache of?”

“He’s bleeding,” Isaac answered. His gaze moved to look at Derek. “Badly,” he dared to add, knowing that Derek cared.

Derek paled considerably.

“Looks like your pup might not make it after all,” Ennis commented, a barely detectable undertone of smugness in his voice as he leaned against the stable wall, still observing the scene before him.

“Go get Deaton,” Peter calmly stated, his features nearly blank of emotion.

“Isaac, you go,” Derek weakly stated, offering the reins to the Beta. “You’re a faster rider than me. Tell Deaton to hurry, and to have his assistant follow after him with whatever else he needs. But we need him _now_.”

Isaac profusely nodded as he clambered up onto the horse’s saddle.

~*~

Peter was the one to lift Stiles from the chair, holding him against his chest as he ordered Erica to get Natalia out of the way.

Natalia ran to Derek, clinging onto his leg as she blinked her tears away without making a sound. She kept out of Peter’s way with such ease, it hurt Derek to think about how accustomed she was to being ever invisible to Peter.

“Do something useful then, and get the room ready,” Peter countered demanded of Erica, watching he already retreating form running off into the hallway.

Stiles released a sharp gasp of pain, his hand clutching at Peter’s collar as his arm tightened around Peter’s neck. “Something’s—”

“Wrong,” Peter cut Stiles off as he brought him out of the library and headed towards the birthing room Erica had hurried off to quickly put together. “I heard. I sent Isaac to go get Deaton,” he informed Stiles, not bothering to look at him.

Ennis released a long, sighing whistle as he entered the library, a lightness in the way he presented himself.

Derek easily lifted Natalia into his arms, holding her close as she circled her arms around his neck.

“You can’t tell me _you’re_ surprised, Derek,” Ennis started, turning his attention to the apple and knife in his hands. He knew Derek was glaring daggers at him, smiling to himself as he cut into the apple. “Peter’s been going downhill since the fire happened,” he started. “Honestly, the only reason he got that pup in your arms is because of Omega Stilinski.”

Derek shuffled Natalia’s weight onto his hip, wishing he could cover her ears. He knew when he was being passively threatened by another Alpha, and this was just Ennis revealing his malicious intent. He also disliked how Ennis referred to Stiles as his unmarried, former formal title.

Ennis smiled as he chewed on the sliver of apple he had cut. “You’re fond of her, aren’t you?”

Derek’s glare only intensified. “She’s my cousin,” he firmly stated.

Ennis’ smile slowly grew. “Funny,” he commented. “Deucalion thinks she looks exactly like your mother—like you do.”

“Genetics,” Derek growled, daring Ennis to breathe life into such an accusation.

Ennis shrugged in playful ignorance. “That, or she’s yours.”

“That’s a dangerous accusation to make in your host’s house,” Derek growled, his eyes bleeding red as he prepared to fight Ennis if he had to.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke,” Ennis smiled, shaking his head as if he was embarrassed. “Deucalion is always telling me that I have to learn how to present an offer better,” he commented to himself. “What I meant was, how would you like for them to be yours?”

Natalia’s fingertips dug down into Derek’s neck, her palms sweating some as she continued to cling to him.

“You’re making dangerous assumptions, Ennis,” Derek replied.

Ennis nodded. “That being said, I think you understand what’s happening. Deucalion’s offering you an invitation into our pack.”

Derek’s glare deepened.

“The Hale pack died a long time ago, Derek,” Ennis stated, placing the apple onto the side table next to him, wiping the knife’s blade against his trousers. “You’re an exceptional Alpha, one that would be a great additional to our pack. And you’d have everything you could want with it.” He smiled when Derek remained silent. “No more uncle that focused on what’s been lost. No more wishing you could have an Omega that belongs to another.”

“And what does Deucalion receive from such a ridiculous offer?” Derek countered.

“You’re right in thinking it doesn’t come without a price,” Ennis answered. “You’d have Stiles and her to claim as your own. But when the time comes … well, no Omega goes without being shared.”

Derek stood his ground, turning his body to place Natalia further away from Ennis. “I believe you’ve stayed your welcome, Ennis,” he stated. “I’ll inform Alpha Hale of your departure.”

“You’re refusing Deucalion’s offer, then?”

“You offer me a chance to harm my pack, and expect me not to insulted and angered by it?” Derek snapped. “I speak on behalf of my pack when I say that you are to be out of this house before Deaton arrives.”

Ennis stood to his full height, shaking his head. “It’s a shame you think you’re better than this,” he stated. He began to walk towards the entrance to the hallway, pausing when he reached the door. He turned to look back at Derek. “You’re a fool to think that we don’t know—that Peter doesn’t know.”

Derek answered with silence, knowing that he couldn’t reason with Ennis in the slightest. He watched as Ennis left the room. He ran a calming hand over Natalia’s back, wishing he could ease her fears.

“Am I?” Natalia softly asked, her voice small and terrified against the silence lingering over them.

“Are you what?” Derek asked, wishing he could soothe her.

“Yours,” Natalia explained as she pulled back to look at Derek, furiously wiping at her eyes. “Am I yours and Papa’s?” She asked, sniffling as she stared at Derek.

“Your Papa and I love you very much,” Derek answered, not knowing how much he could tell her—what Stiles wanted to tell her. “Isn’t that what matters?”

Natalia nodded, burying her face in the crook of Derek’s shoulder.

~*~

Stiles suppressed another scream, his toes curling down as he tried to press his heels down into the mattress in an attempt to rock his body back and forth, hoping it would sooth the pain.

Something was very wrong.

Stiles was sweating, his sight blurry from the tears as he tried to concentrate on something beside the intense pain tearing him apart. His whole body hurt as he dug his clawed hands down into the sheets of the bed. He could feel the blood between his legs, the way his entire abdomen lit up in pain.

“Stiles,” a familiar voice stated his name as a blurry figure entered the room.

Stiles tried to steady his breathing.

“Stiles, it’s Deaton,” the voice explained. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you manage that?”

Stiles vigorously nodded his head in agreement, hoping that Deaton would stop the pain sooner than later.

~*~

Derek was grateful when Boyd took Natalia for a walk among the gardens as a distraction. He sat in silence with his uncle, in the parlor, both of them waiting for Deaton to arrive and tell them the news.

Peter remained quiet when Derek stood to pace. He turned his gaze towards Derek. He was thinking about what to do now that Ennis had left, leaving the Hale pack back to its dwindling numbers.

“We should send for his father,” Derek suddenly stated.

Peter scoffed at the thought. “And his father would do what, exactly?”

“Have a chance to see his son,” Derek sharply answered.

Peter kept his thoughts to himself.

“It would make him feel better,” Derek stated.

“I suppose,” Peter answered. “Send Isaac to retrieve him.”

Derek was a little surprised, gratefully nodding in acceptance.

~*~

It felt as if days had passed when Deaton finally came to find both Alphas.

Deaton’s sleeves were rolled up his arms, his formal topcoat long forgotten. He solemnly looked at the two Hales when he entered the parlor.

“Well?” Peter snapped, wishing Deaton would just tell them what was happening.

Deaton sighed. “Things are worse than I thought they were,” he started. “Stiles’ ill health is connected to his pregnancy in more ways than just his body trying to work on nurturing a life.”

“What about the child?” Peter pressed.

Deaton turned his gaze on Peter. “There’s no sign of movement or heartbeat.”

Derek closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I’m going to have to perform surgery to remove the child,” Deaton continued.

“If you have to, save the child at all costs,” Peter simply stated.

Deaton looked at Peter, his expression almost confused.

Derek turned to look at Peter. “You bastard,” he growled. “You’d kill him if it meant you could get ahead.”

“He’s done his purpose,” Peter answered.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m telling you, Alpha Hale,” Deaton calmly addressed Peter, cutting through the tension between the two Alphas. “The baby is dead.”

Peter remained silent.

“I have to remove the child before Stiles grows sicker,” Deaton continued. “Before he dies.”

Derek looked at Peter, realizing that he wasn’t going to say anything. “Do what you can,” he instructed Deaton.

~*~

Deaton allowed Derek into the room before he decided to tell Peter how the procedure went. He had wrapped the baby in a cloth, placing the baby in the small crib that had served as Natalia’s.

Derek paused as he stood near the bed, his gaze watching Stiles. He held his breath as he watched Stiles’ chest rise and fall with little difficulty, wishing he could have done something besides standing around and waiting.

“He’ll be fine,” Deaton stated as he turned his attention away from Stiles, covering his body with the blanket. “Physically, he’ll be fine,” he specified, as if it was necessary for Derek to understand that.

Derek faintly nodded. His eyes moved to look at the crib he knew the baby was settled in.

“It was a boy,” Deaton offered. “Something must have happened with his organs—they were underdeveloped. Besides that … he was perfect.”

Stiles’ eyes fluttered open, his body squirming as his face twisted in pain.

“You shouldn’t move too much, Stiles,” Deaton instructed.

“The baby,” Stiles softly stated, looking down at his stomach. It wasn’t flat, but it was flatter than it had been, making the bile rise in his throat. “I want my baby,” he started, looking up at Deaton. “Where’s my baby?”

“Stiles,” Derek gently started as he moved closer to the bed. “The baby …”

Stiles shook his head. He knew. He knew for weeks. “I just want to hold my baby,” he explained to Derek, hoping he would understand.

Derek hesitated before faintly nodding. He briefly looked at Deaton before going over to the crib. He looked down, wishing he could see the animated movements Natalia had made right after she was born. He reached into the crib, bringing the lifeless swaddle into his arms. He looked down at the baby, his eyes scanning.

The baby was perfectly shaped, his face small and serene looking. His cheeks were curved, nose small and upturned like Stiles’. His small hand was curled against his chest. His skin was underdeveloped, it being evident that he still had months of growing to do before he was ready to live.

Derek settled the baby in his arm, reaching a hand up to cover the baby more, not wanting Stiles to have to see more than necessary. His fingertip brushed against the baby’s hand, forcing Derek to see for the first time just how small the child in his arms was. The girth of Derek’s finger was larger than the baby’s entire hand. He took a second to compose himself.

Derek forced himself to move to Stiles’ side. He stood beside the bed as he leaned over to deposit the child in Stiles’ arms.

Stiles trembled as he took the baby into his arms, his body only slightly prompt up on the pillows against the headboard. He tucked the baby into his arms, staring down at him. He started to cry, his tears unending as he stared down at his child. “Why?” He faintly asked, his voice cracking.

Derek leaned down, pressing a kiss into Stiles’ sweaty hair. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” he offered, holding back his own emotions.

“He’s mine,” Stiles softly uttered. “And I’m so ashamed that I— I didn’t want him at first. But now … I couldn’t even protect him, despite it all.”

“None of this was your fault, Stiles,” Deaton’s voice cut through the tears both Stiles and Derek shared. “Nothing could have prevented this.”

It only made Stiles cry harder, causing the pain in his stomach to increase.

“Stiles, you need to rest,” Derek stated, wrapping his arm around the baby and Stiles. “I’ll take care of it all, you just need to rest.”

Stiles violently shook his head, his free arm grasping Derek’s arm. “You can’t let Peter hurt him,” he quickly uttered, his nails digging into Derek’s shirt. “Promise me you won’t— please, Derek, don’t let Peter throw him away. He has to be buried. And not in some unmarked grave—” His voice cracked, another sob making it impossible to think such things, let alone speak them.

Derek pressed a sorrowful kiss to Stiles’ lips, hopeful that it helped in the slightest when he felt some of the tension leave Stiles’ body. “I promise,” he uttered against Stiles’ lips. “I’ll keep him safe.”

Stiles reluctantly released his hold on the baby, his body sinking into the bed from exhaustion. “Jonathon. I named him Jonathon,” he softly explained as he watched Derek stand with the baby in his arms.

Derek nodded. He waited until Stiles fell back asleep, thanks to the drugs Deaton administered, before he placed the baby back in the crib. He excused himself, taking a moment to himself in the hallway. He wasn’t sure how, but he ended up sliding his back down against the wall. He leaned his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes, trying to count backwards in order to keep calm. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he allowed it to break down, his whole chest hurting as he released a sharp sob. He allowed himself, for the first time since the fire, to openly cry—to mourn the life he didn’t get to know.

~*~

Weeks passed in a dreary fashion.

Natalia was afraid to hurt Stiles whenever she climbed up into bed with him. She knew it helped, when Stiles hugged her tightly against him, both of them falling asleep as they tried to ignore the void they felt in their hearts.

Stiles knew Peter didn’t accept Jonathon. He bitterly laughed, finding it cruelly ironic that the male child Peter so desperately wanted—the child that was biologically Peter’s—was the child the Alpha refused to accept.

They buried Jonathon on a Thursday, the storm clouds far enough away that Derek was confident enough they would be undisturbed.

John held Natalia in his arms as he stood beside Stiles. He placed a solid hand on Stiles’ shoulder, an attempt to give him the reassurance that despite the pain and heartbreak, they all would make it through it. He was glad that he had made it when he did, saddened though to think he couldn’t have been there for Stiles during it all.

Stiles clung to Derek, still too weak to stand on his own. But he knew the truth—if Derek wasn’t there, he would have flung himself onto the small coffin and begged for them not to bury his baby.

When Stiles’ knees gave out, Derek readily grabbed Stiles to steady him. He gently eased Stiles into the wooden wheelchair Erica had made sure to have waiting. He wished he could do more than just physically support Stiles in that moment.

The staff paid their respects, all of them attending and offering their own condolences to Stiles. But in the end, they all knew it probably hurt Stiles more than anything to hear the apologies.

That night, Stiles lay awake crying in his bed. He couldn’t stop the tears as his whole body shook. He was slowly losing his baby weight, and couldn’t let go of the memory of feeling Jonathon kick against his stomach for the first time. He loved him before he even knew he was going to be a boy—he loved him even knowing that Peter was his father.

Stiles startled when he heard his door open, trying his best to hide his tears in fear that is was Natalia. He was surprised to see that it was Derek. “What are you doing?” He asked, sounding more relieved than scrutinizing.

Derek silently lifted the covers, slipping into the bed with Stiles. “I missed you,” he answered, settled down next to Stiles.

“If Peter finds out—”

“I’ll rip his throat out,” Derek simply stated.

It wasn’t a vow as all the other times had been. It wasn’t even a threat. It was a fact.

Derek was ready to tear Peter apart, limb from limb. But all he wanted first was to comfort Stiles.

Stiles shifted his weight with care, mindful that his wound was still healing from the surgery. He curled into Derek’s embrace, hoping he could stay there and forget it all.

“Stiles,” Derek softly said his name, wanting to make sure he was still awake.

“Hm?” Stiles tiredly asked as he closed his eyes, listening to Derek’s even breathing.

“I don’t want you to think that what I’m about to say is only because of what’s happened,” Derek explained. “I felt it for a long time, and never found the right time,” he continued, trailing his hand up and down Stiles’ back in a comforting manner. “I love you,” he breathlessly confessed, sounding as if he was winded by the very thought of it.

Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek. “I already knew,” he answered. A small but hopeful smile graced Stiles’ lips. “Just as I love you.”

~*~

Stiles sat in the library, his thoughts preoccupied with just what this room had come to mean to him. He hated to think of all the times he spent sitting in this particular armchair, his body healing from whatever Peter put him through. But he thought of the happy times he shared with Derek here—their first meeting; their unorthodox getting to know one another; and all the small, happy moments they spent with Natalia. He figured it only fitting that Peter corner him here.

“I’m taking Natalia with me,” Peter plainly informed Stiles as if he had not just walked into the room to drop such unexpected news on him.

Stiles’ gaze slowly raised to look at Peter. His eyes were sunken, dark rings of exhaustion around his eyes. “Why?” He demanded.

“I need no reason to take my child with me,” Peter reminded Stiles. “I am going to be away for some time, and I fully intend on introducing her to society properly.”

“No,” Stiles stated as he looked at Peter.

“I’m not asking you for permission, Omega,” Peter growled. “I’m informing you of what is to happen so that she will be ready to depart with me.”

“And I am telling you no,” Stiles answered as he forced himself to stand. He ignored the pain in his belly, the sharp pain in his heart being much worse to endure. “You won’t take my child away from me.”

“You had no problem killing the other one,” Peter cruelly snapped. “Until you’re functioning again, there is no need for you to be around her.”

Hot tears burned Stiles’ eyes. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that,” he angrily demanded.

“You forget yourself,” Peter replied.

“For the first time in years, I’m not,” Stiles stated, accepting his emotions. “You blame everyone for what happened, when it was _your_ fault.”

“You couldn’t even carry a child to term, _that_ is not my fault,” Peter sharply answered.

Stiles shook his head, his anger overwhelming him. “I told you something was wrong—I told you I was sicker than I should have been, but you ignored my concerns. Like you always do!”

Peter grabbed Stiles by the arm, prepared to drag him off to his room and leave him there—where Stiles couldn’t make a scene to be discovered by anyone.

“Don’t touch me!” Stiles snapped, ripping his arm out of Peter’s grasp. “Don’t _ever_ touch me again.” He didn’t bother to wipe at his tears. “You did this,” he uttered, his hands clenching into fists as he shook with grief. “My child is dead because you couldn’t be bothered to care.”

“Stop your whining,” Peter cruelly demanded. “It wasn’t even fully formed.”

Stiles’ chest hurt, Peter’s words cut him deeply—as if Jonathon’s life didn’t matter, that his death meant nothing. Stiles reacted on instinct, shoving Peter hard. “I hate you,” he lowly hissed through his clenched teeth. “Do you hear me? I _hate_ you.”

It didn’t hurt, not like every other time. The pain in Stiles’ heart was too much for him to care about Peter smacking him across the face.

“Get ahold of yourself,” Peter stated, straightening his jacket some. “Being hysterical over some dead _thing_ ,” he commented in judgment, as if Stiles was ridiculous.

Stiles released an inhuman scream as he attacked Peter.

~*~

Derek was walking the hallway with Deaton, talking with him about the medication he was trying to make sure Stiles received in appropriate doses, when he heard Stiles’ shriek. He rushed towards the sound, knowing that Deaton was following after him. He was startled when he opened the door to the library to discover Peter barely holding a feral Stiles at bay.

Stiles’ nails had been replaced by sharp claws that sought to bury themselves in Peter’s throat. His eyes were burning their cold blue as he yelled through his fangs.

“Stiles!” Derek yelled his name as he rushed forward. He wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, making sure his grip was high enough to avoid the surgical wound running low on Stiles’ stomach.

“I’ll kill you,” Stiles angrily shouted through his tears as he struggled against Derek, still completely shifted. “I _hate_ you— I’ll _kill_ you if you touch her—” He tried to get free of Derek, not caring about the pain he felt when his wound started to tear open.

Derek maneuvered himself to wrap his arms around Stiles’, folding the Omega’s arms against his chest as he held Stiles tightly.

“No!” Stiles argued, trying to wrench himself free of Derek. “He deserves this— he doesn’t deserve to live! He killed Jonathon! He killed him— he did _this_ ,” he cried, his emotions breaking down. His threw his head back when Deaton managed to stab a needle into his upper thigh, the burn of the sedative being too much for him to fight.

Derek tried to hush Stiles, gently rocking him back and forth. He was relieved when Stiles started to willingly settle against his chest with ease.

“He killed him,” Stiles sobbed, turning into Derek. “He— he did this,” he repeated, his voice hiccupping in his throat as he started to drift.

Derek held Stiles against him, turning Stiles’ head into his neck. He hoped his scent would be a comfort to Stiles, even in the smallest form. He looked at Peter.

Peter swatted at Deaton’s hand as the healer tried to inspect the claw marks Stiles had left.

The wounds were deep for an Omega, likely to scar some. It was easy to see Peter’s anger, but he couldn’t deny that he provoked such a response.

Peter had refused to hold Jonathon after Deaton had cleaned the baby. He didn’t acknowledge the bundled-up and unmoving form in Derek’s arms when his nephew presented him, leaving Jonathon without a recognized pack to mourn him. He didn’t attend the small funeral held for Jonathon, leaving Derek to hold Stiles as the Omega cried and mourned the baby they never got to know. Then he threw it all in Stiles’ face—blamed him for it.

No person in kind society—Alpha nor Beta, especially Omega—would call Stiles’ reaction undeserving.

“I don’t care how many tantrums he throws,” Peter harshly started as he moved to stand, shoving Deaton from him. “I’m taking Natalia with me when I leave here, and he _will_ accept that. Even if I have to beat it into him.”

Derek glowered at Peter, his glare following his uncle as he left the room in a rage. He cradled Stiles against his chest, keeping him there as he listened to Stiles’ sound breathing. He caught the faintest of whimpers coming from Stiles every now and again, only making him want to hold Stiles even closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Miscarriage/Stillbirth: Stiles' baby no longer has a heartbeat, nor is moving. Deaton informs both Peter and Derek that the baby is dead, and that is what is causing Stiles to be so ill. Deaton surgically removes to baby--the baby is described, not in gory detail or anything, and is held by both Derek and Stiles.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end, my darlings.
> 
> This has been a wild ride and I hope you aren't disappointed with it :)
> 
> Warnings at the end of the chapter A/N
> 
> And side note, if it wasn't obvious, Lydia took Allison as her Omega, and they are raising a baby boy together, named Victor (named after Allison's mother).

Stiles was grateful that his father stayed the weeks following Jonathon’s funeral. He fondly smiled as he watched his father reading to Natalia.

Natalia was settled in her grandfather’s lap, smiling as she looked down at the pages of the book. She curled against John’s chest, her gaze briefly turning to look at Stiles.

Stiles smiled at Natalia, silently mouthing ‘I love you.’ He pretended that he couldn’t hear the arguing that was coming from down the hallway, knowing that his father was reading louder in order to distract Natalia.

~*~

“You can’t take an Omega’s child from them,” Derek snapped at Peter.

“You’re going to tell me that I cannot take _my_ child with me,” Peter demanded to know.

“Do you want Stiles to grow sicker?” Derek countered. “He’s lost a child, you can’t take the one he has left away from him.”

Peter threw his glass of bourbon against the wall, turning a furious glare on Derek. “If you don’t stop pushing this, I will send you from this house.”

“From my own house,” Derek snapped back. “You may be pack Alpha right now, but this estate still belongs to me.” He was furious. “I’m not a child anymore, Peter. Don’t think you can keep playing at this game.”

Peter’s expression remained emotionless.

“I know the difference between what is right and what is wrong. And taking a grieving Omega’s child away is not acceptable,” Derek pressed.

“And leaving Natalia alone with him is a mistake,” Peter countered. He turned to the papers he left on the table, grabbing the bottom one. He walked over to Derek, shoving the paper against Derek’s chest. His claws were showing, the nails threating to pierce through the paper and into Derek’s chest. “And I don’t trust you with him.”

Derek kept Peter’s gaze.

“I think you covet my Omega too much,” Peter added. “Go into town and meet with my contact. It should take you only a few days at most.”

Derek took the paper in his hand, waiting for Peter to move his hold on him. He looked at the paper, seeing that it was another arrangement to process goods being shipped in from across the seas. “And if I don’t?”

“I’ll drag Stiles out of the house by his hair and take him with me instead,” Peter answered as he turned his back on Derek. “I think that should be incentive enough.”

~*~

“How long?” Stiles asked as he watched Natalia pull on John’s hand to bring him closer to the flowers in the garden.

“He says a few days,” Derek replied. “I’ll make it only a night.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “My father is staying,” he offered. “He said he doesn’t want to leave me here with Peter.”

“He’s a smart man,” Derek stated. He looked out the glass door, his gaze following Natalia. “How are you doing?”

Stiles frowned, running his hands along the shrug that was wrapped around him. “Better,” he answered. “I’ll never be … there’s no changing what happened. And I’m always going to miss the child I never got to know. But … I’m not as broken as before.”

Derek nodded. “Physically, though. Are you healed enough to … can you fight back if you have to?” He asked, finally giving voice to his concern.

Stiles looked at Derek.

“If I challenge him before I leave, and I lose, I need to know you can at least defend yourself,” Derek stated. “I would have done it sooner if I thought you were ready.”

Stiles touched a hand to Derek’s arm. “You’re stronger than him.”

“I’m not sure,” Derek answered as he looked at Stiles. “That’s why it’s taken so long for me to do something. In a way, you’re stronger than me, Stiles. You found what you needed to fight back against Peter. And I … I’ve never been able to do that.”

Stiles frowned. “I attacked him out of grief.”

“And I stayed loyal to him out of my grief,” Derek compared.

“Derek, don’t,” Stiles started. “You’ve already—”

“He wasn’t supposed to be the next pack Alpha,” Derek abruptly stated.

Stiles stared at Derek, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“I was,” Derek confessed. “But I was only sixteen when the fire happened. I wasn’t old enough— or so Peter told me.” He closed his eyes.

Derek remembered waking up from the fire, seeing Peter sitting in a chair next to his bed. His lungs burned with the haunting reminder of smoke. His eyes hurt with the tears that came when Peter told him they were all that was left—that _he_ killed them. He lost his family and pack, and all he had left was Peter. He could still feel the guilt souring in his stomach when Peter showed him the burns now marking his uncle’s skin. He wished Peter had been kinder in his revelations, only in recent months recognizing it as the manipulation that it was. He had signed over everything except his right to the estate—he stepped down as pack Alpha, giving his mother’s title to Peter with the few loops of his signature, nothing more than ink on paper that sealed away everyone’s fate.

“I wasn’t ready to be pack Alpha,” Derek stated. “Or … he told me I wasn’t ready. I can’t even remember,” he bitterly laughed. He looked at Stiles. “He can’t keep you from the house as long as I’m alive, though. He was stupid enough to let me keep my right to the estate.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “You … you could keep him from here?”

A look of confusion fell over Derek’s features.

“You could bar him from these grounds and you haven’t?” Stiles forcefully asked.

“The Hale Manor still belongs to the Hale pack,” Derek explained. “But he can’t force me out of it because my name is attached to the deed.”

Stiles pulled away from Derek as if he had been burned. “You left me here with him when you could have made him leave.”

Derek’s features fell. “Stiles, I couldn’t keep him from you.”

“Yes, you could have,” Stiles countered, taking a step away from Derek, his voice shaking. “You never intended on challenging him, did you?”

“Stiles, don’t say that,” Derek argued. “You know I—”

“Do I?” Stiles snapped. “I trusted you—I _believed_ you. And you’re just— leaving me here, with him. Again!”

“Stiles,” Derek made a move to hold Stiles’ hand, to try and placate him.

Stiles ripped his arms out of Derek’s reach. “Don’t touch me.”

Derek stared at Stiles, his features open and vulnerable. He started to question himself—did he really leave Stiles to this fate? Could he have beaten Peter before? He had been so sure that he was going to challenge Peter—that he _could_ challenge him. But every pain Stiles endured made that more and more relevant. It drove Derek to want to protect Stiles from Peter. But his love for Stiles should have been enough to stop Peter from the start.

And just like that, Derek felt as if he was sixteen again. As if he knew what he wanted and was running head first after it, only to discover that even Alphas could fail in their endeavors. He felt as if he was waking up to the fire burning down around him again, wondering if he could ever have the scorched ruins rebuilt into what the manor once was. He felt like the child looking for a knowing adult—one that would tell him what he had to do. He hadn’t realized how much he had let Peter use him, how blindly he gave his own control away.

A sickening thought snuck its way into Derek’s mind. Peter didn’t do this to Stiles. Derek did—he _let_ this happen.

“I am like Peter,” Derek weakly stated in abject horror. He took a step back from Stiles, faltering some. He couldn’t look at Stiles—he didn’t deserve to. “And I did want to be, so badly, that I believed you when you said—” He swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing that Stiles had nothing to compare Derek’s treatment of him to besides Peter’s—that he wasn’t any worse than his uncle. “I never meant to …” He released a wounded, deprecating laugh. “That’s all I do,” he bitterly stated. “My intentions never mean to harm, but in the end, all I do is destroy things.” He refused to take a lingering glance at Stiles, forcing himself to leave the room behind.

Stiles blinked away his tears, regret twisting in his stomach as he cried, covering his face with his hands.

~*~

John’s eyebrows furrowed in misunderstanding.

“Just take them with you,” Derek plainly stated.

“If I’m not mistaken, Peter has to give that order,” John calmly replied.

“This is my house,” Derek angrily stated, turning to look at John. “And I want your son and his daughter out of it while I’m away.”

John arched his eyebrows at Derek.

“I think you can take that as incentive enough,” Derek stated.

“I’m not blind, Derek,” John answered. “There is something going on here that no one seems to want to tell me. And I think it’s high time I’m told.”

Derek remained silent.

“Derek—”

“I want your whore of a son, and his bastard, _gone_ ,” Derek forcefully snapped as he glared at John. “Take that however you will, because Peter will kill him and her when he finds out.” He turned and left John behind, hoping that was enough to force John’s hand.

John grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping Derek before he could escape the room. “I will not allow you, or anyone, to talk about my son and granddaughter in such a way,” he uttered, a darkness laced within his tone. “I may be an old Alpha, but I am still an Alpha. And you’re just a pup.”

Derek turned to look at John.

“And that sounds more like Peter talking than you,” John continued. “Don’t ever think you can call my son that without repercussions. Even if you are doing it to put on a show of indifference.”

“It’s not indifference—”

“You’re right, it’s anger,” John corrected him. “But I’ve seen you with both Stiles and Natalia, and I can say without a doubt that those thoughts aren’t something that has ever crossed your mind. Are they?”

Derek hesitated, turning his gaze away from John as he reluctantly shook his head. He hated the way those words felt falling off his tongue. He hated how Peter spit those accusations at Stiles. He hated that, according to society, it was true—he made Stiles into an adulterer. “If you are an Alpha that cares about your son, you’ll take him home and keep him there until I deal with Peter.”

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if I could take Stiles with me, I would,” John stated, releasing his hold on Derek.

“Just take him,” Derek growled. “Tell Peter that both Natalia and Stiles need a change of scenery. That it’s only a few days. He’ll allow that.”

“And what are you planning on doing?” John demanded.

“Pooling my resources,” Derek answered.

John carefully looked over Derek. “I never thought I’d have to protect Stiles from you.”

Derek tensed, turning his gaze away from John.

“Saying something that vulgar for no reason other than to bait me?” John demanded.

“When this is all over, you’re going to hear worse,” Derek replied. “Stiles will be shunned by society, and have them looking down their noses at him. Natalia won’t be given any high prospects when it comes to marriages.”

John stared at Derek. “Do you think I care about that?” He shook his head. “If you think I, or Stiles, really care about what society has to say, you clearly don’t understand my family as well as I thought you did.”

“Clearly nothing is as you thought,” Derek replied.

“That’s really up to you. Because despite your little show, I think you’re still the good man your mother raised you to be,” John countered.

Derek shook his head. “I’m as bad as Peter,” he corrected John. “I’ve let him— he’s done things to Stiles that can never be undone, or forgiven. And it’s taken me this long to … I couldn’t even think of hurting Peter. Every time I tried to … to even think about challenging him, I’d just see how we used to be—before the fire.”

John looked at Derek. “He’s your uncle,” he offered, as if it was the answer Derek had been searching for. “I don’t—” He released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what Peter has done, but I can tell when my son isn’t being treated well. I don’t know what you’ve seen, or what you’ve been through with Stiles, or with Peter. But not wanting to kill family—a part of your pack—isn’t a negative trait.”

Derek finally looked up at John.

“You’re loyal, Derek,” John stated. “But you’re also young. You’ve had no one but Peter to call pack for so long that you feel an innate sense of dread when you think about losing him.” He shook his head. “But do you think that maybe you’ve already lost him years ago?”

“Stiles deserves better then this,” Derek stated.

“And that’s what makes you better than Peter,” John stated.

~*~

The carriage was silent for a majority of the ride.

Stiles held Natalia close, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, looking outside the carriage at the trees passing. He was grateful to be going home, hoping that Natalia would enjoy seeing where he grew up as a child. He didn’t understand why Peter allowed them to leave, only that he seemed annoyed at the ordeal.

John had been forward with Peter, telling him that he didn’t trust Peter with his son or granddaughter. He pushed his bounds as far as he could, stating that he fully intended on taking Stiles home with him in order to take Stiles’ mind off recent events.

To his surprise, and suspicions, Peter accepted John’s demand with little resistance. Peter cited looking forward to an empty house—the quiet being something he cherished.

They left the estate without seeing or hearing a word from Derek. John could see the disappointment on Stiles’ face as he reluctantly climbed into the carriage.

“She’s Derek’s,” John broke the silence.

Stiles looked at his father, his expression calm. He figured his father was bound to find out eventually. “Are you disappointed with me?”

John looked at Stiles. “I’d never be disappointed with you, Stiles.” His gaze drifted to Natalia. “And I could never be angry with anything that lead to Natalia.”

Stiles frowned. “You’ve seen how Peter has been the past few weeks, have you not?”

John looked at Stiles. “Grief can do a great many things to someone.”

Stiles released a bitter laugh. “Peter doesn’t feel grief for Jonathon. He only feels grief for himself—for losing a son.”

John took Stiles’ hand into his own.

Stiles offered a sad smile to his dad.

“Does Peter know?” John asked.

Stiles quickly shook his head. “No. He thinks Natalia is his,” he answered.

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “And Jonathon?”

Stiles frowned. “Peter’s.”

“Stiles,” John sighed his name. “I’m not going to push you to explain, but …”

“Peter’s abusive,” Stiles simply put. “He’s unpredictable. He hates that he had to lower himself to marry me, thinking an Omega would give him a greater status and children.” He pressed a kiss into Natalia’s hair, closing his eyes as he held her closely. “Peter was angry that I wasn’t … that I seemed to be unable to give him what he wanted. Derek … saved me one night.”

John turned his body towards Stiles. “What happened?”

Stiles shook his head. “Peter still misses his wife,” he offered. “Derek came home in time to pull Peter off me. We both thought … we thought he’d change—that he’d stop hating me if he could just have a child.” He closed his eyes, trying to hold back his tears. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with Derek,” a soft sob cracked from his chest.

“This is my fault,” John stated.

“Dad—”

“I chose Peter,” John sharply said. “I gave you to him.”

“You thought he was the man he pretends to be,” Stiles argued. “You thought he was like Derek. I foolishly thought he could be like Derek.” He wiped the back of his hand at his eyes, the soft silk of the gloves wiping away his tears. He looked at the gloves, still thinking of how Derek gave them back to him—told him that he deserved them; that Talia would have loved him and wanted him to have them. “And I told Derek this was his fault,” he guiltily stated. “He left thinking I hated him.”

“I’m sure Derek knows how you feel, Stiles,” John reassured him.

“He left thinking I was angry with him,” Stiles argued as he shook his head. “I put so much blame on him, making him think it was his job to deal with Peter. That if he— if he loved me, he’d challenge Peter. I was so _angry_ —about Jonathon, and Peter trying to take Natalia. I lashed out, and I didn’t even say sorry.”

John wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, drawing him in close to his chest. “He knows you were upset, kiddo,” he softly stated, tucking Stiles’ head under his chin. “What matters is how you handle it when he returns.”

~*~

Stiles felt healthier—stronger, even—now that he was able to breathe easily. He didn’t strain himself as he allowed his body to finish healing. He played with Natalia in the small garden his mother had kept. He showed Natalia the different seeds and plants, smiling as he watched her bury the seeds in the ground.

Stiles kept in contact with Erica, writing her letters that asked for frequent updates. Like his father, Stiles didn’t trust Peter’s willingness to let him and Natalia leave the estate. He asked as often as he could about Derek, worrying when Erica said the days had passed with no contact.

“Is it normal for him not to keep in contact?” John asked the night that Stiles explained everything to him.

“He usually sends word if he’s going to be late,” Stiles answered. “Other times, he would try to surprise me by coming home early.”

“Could one of the Betas check on him?” John asked.

Stiles shook his head. “Peter would stop them. None of this makes sense. Why would Peter let me go, and take Natalia with me when he was so adamant in keeping her away from me?”

John looked at Stiles.

“I don’t trust Peter,” Stiles uttered. “He could have done something.”

“I thought Erica said he was still lingering around the estate,” John replied.

Stiles nodded. “I … I think I should check on things.”

“Stiles, you’ve only been gone a week,” John started.

“And Derek was supposed to be home three days ago,” Stiles countered. “But he hasn’t contacted anyone the entire time he was gone.” He released a heavy breath. “I’m afraid that he’s done something to hurt Derek.”

Stiles left Natalia with his father, not wanting to bring her back to the house incase something was happening. He wasn’t surprised to find the Betas hiding out of sight from Peter. He laughed when Erica and Isaac came running out of the house to see him. He thanked Boyd for seeing to his horse nearly immediately, knowing that he might need it should he travel into town.

Stiles wasn’t surprised when he found Peter in the parlor. He entered with caution, his steps calculated and guarded as he took care not draw attention to himself. It didn’t seem to matter.

“You’re back,” Peter calmly stated, his gaze resting on Ida’s portrait above the fireplace.

“For the moment,” Stiles replied.

“And I’m guessing you’re keeping my child from me,” Peter countered.

Stiles frowned, his gaze fallen on the portrait. “Natalia is spending time with my father. She likes spending time with her grandfather.”

Peter snorted into his glass of bourbon. He gestured around the room, at the emptiness of it. “As you can see, I’m enjoying the single life.”

Stiles side-eyed Peter. “Where’s Derek?” He simply asked.

“Errands,” Peter answered.

Stiles silently moved to stand beside Peter’s chair, making sure he was standing in Peter’s direct line of sight. “Are you lying to me?”

Peter looked at Stiles, a lazy smile gracing his features. “I’m celebrating. I’d like you not to ruin it, if you could manage that.” He stood up from his chair, moving to stand in front of Stiles. “Or maybe I could use you for some enjoyment.” His fingers trailed along the ties of Stiles’ corseted vest, the elongated claw of his index finger slipping beneath the top tie.

Stiles reached a hand up to grab Peter’s, digging his blunt nails into Peter’s skin. “I’ll claw your eyes out,” he answered Peter’s suggestion.

Peter released a soft huff. “Have to ruin my fun.”

“It’s shocking to see you acting in such a manner,” Stiles replied, pushing Peter’s hand away from him. “Then again, you are drunk.”

Peter smiled. “I honestly thought I’d feel something, getting rid of him. But all I can feel is … pale bemusement.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “What did you do?” He asked as horror built in his chest.

Peter raised his glass to his lips, finishing off what was left of the bourbon as he tipped the glass back. His motion was quick as he tossed the glass into the fire.

Stiles jumped when the crystal of the glass snapped and shattered from the heat.

“Justice,” Peter finally answered Stiles, a look of contentment falling over him as he pushed passed Stiles.

~*~

Stiles tried to not draw attention to himself as he quietly rode his horse down the main street of town. He ignored the looks he received as he dismounted his horse. He smiled at the stable boy, thanking him for taking his horse. He calmly entered the tavern, pretending that he wasn’t immediately the subject of everyone’s gaze.

The bartender side-eyed Stiles, watching the Omega coming closer to the bar. “You’re out of your element,” the bartender commented.

Stiles looked at the bartender. “Because I’m an Omega?”

“Can’t tell if you’re a mated Omega or not,” the bartender commented. “If you aren’t, that’s bad news for you. And if you are, well, that’s bad news for anyone that lays eyes on you.”

Stiles turned his head to look at the others within eyesight. He noticed that many of the onlookers turned away the moment he looked at them. “I’m looking for a packmate,” he offered as he turned to look back at the bartender.

“Your Alpha?” The bartender questioned.

“Something like that,” Stiles answered. “His name is Derek Hale.”

The bartender tensed once he heard Derek’s name.

“I’ll take that as you know where he is,” Stiles commented.

“His room upstairs,” the bartender stated.

Stiles’ eyes widened briefly. “He’s here?”

“Well … mostly,” the bartender stated.

Stiles ignored the twisting in his stomach. “I want the key to his room.” He glared at the bartender when he didn’t move. “Now.”

Stiles had snatched the key out of the bartender’s hand, moving quickly upstairs. He didn’t care if he was breaking more than one of society’s rules. He didn’t care if people called him a whore for going upstairs to an Alpha’s room.

“Derek?” Stiles faintly called into the room when he opened the door. He peered around the dimly lit room, frowning when there was no response. “Derek, it’s Stiles.” He closed the door behind him, tossing the keys onto the side table as he moved further into the room. He paused when he caught sight of a bloody handprint staining the wall before him. He scanned the room, seeing a figure beneath the blanketed mound on the bed.

Stiles moved close, reaching his hand out to touch the figure. He took a step closer, leaning over the figure to try and look down at their face. “Derek,” he quietly breathed. “Oh my God, Derek,” he quickly uttered as he pulled Derek back onto his back. He pulled the blanket back to inspect Derek further.

Derek had managed to get his shirt off, revealing that his upper body was covered in lacerations. His blood stained the sheets beneath him. His trousers and boots were still on, evidence to the fact that Derek barely made it into his room, let alone his bed.

“Derek, can you hear me?” Stiles asked, trying to not jostle Derek. His hands touched Derek’s face, trying to gage his response. “You need a healer,” he barely whispered as he looked over Derek’s wounds.

~*~

Stiles paced as he watched the healer lean over Derek. He turned a glare on the bartender when he dared to come to the doorway. “What do you want?” He angrily snapped at the man.

“His room is passed due,” the bartender replied.

“You nearly caused his death, and yet here you are, demanding money,” Stiles hissed.

“He walked upstairs on his own,” the bartender countered.

Stiles glowered at the man. “Leave,” he lowly stated. “I will give you your pay when I leave here with him.” He turned his back on the bartender, looking back at the healer. He waited anxiously for the man to give him an answer.

The healer sighed as he abandoned Derek behind. “He’s been wounded by another Alpha. That being said, he’s healing faster than can be expected for the amount of blood he has lost.”

Stiles looked at Derek. “Will he recover?”

The healer observed Stiles for a moment. “He will. However, his wounds will scar.”

Stiles nodded.

The healer paused, his frown twisting slightly. “If he managed to defeat this other Alpha, my young lord, it means that he will grow stronger, as will the Alpha’s pack’s desire to slay him.”

Stiles looked at the healer.

“I would recommend that you take him home as soon as possible, before others take advantage of his vulnerability here,” the healer explained.

Stiles drew in a steady breath, reluctantly nodding in acceptance. He’d have to find a way to get Derek home without causing him more pain.

~*~

Stiles called to Boyd the moment he was in range of the estate. He had managed to get Derek onto the horse with little difficulty once he threw more than enough gold at the bartender for his help. He kept his arms around Derek, hoping he wouldn’t lose his balance as they started their travel back to the estate. He was grateful when both Boyd and Isaac came out to the stables, immediately running up to him and Derek.

“He’s been attacked by an Alpha,” Stiles explained, keeping himself balanced upon the horse as Boyd managed to get Derek’s unconscious body off the horse. “We have to get him to bed.”

Boyd and Isaac managed to carry Derek, causing little harm to him as Stiles rushed to tie his horse up in the stables.

Stiles pulled his gloves off, hurrying into the house after both Betas. He dropped his cloak onto the ground by the hook by the door, giving little care about the garments. He asked Erica to bring bandages and any medicinal salves the estate’s stores possessed.

~*~

Derek stirred from his slumber, groaning at the pain he felt in his abdomen as he tried to rise from the bed.

“Don’t,” Stiles softly instructed as he pushed a hand against Derek’s shoulder, easing him back down into the bed. “You’re far too hurt to be sitting up.”

“I must be dreaming if you’re here,” Derek answered, his eyes closing some. He rolled to the side, wincing some as he tried to reach for the glass of water he saw on the nightstand.

“Yes, because only then would I care about you,” Stiles deadpanned as he retrieved the glass for Derek. He offered the glass of water to him, easing the glass to his lips.

Derek looked up at Stiles as he took a drink. “You look angry,” he stated as he leaned back onto the bed. “This must be real, then.”

Stiles scoffed as he shook his head, setting the glass back down. He looked at Derek with a sad expression. “What happened?”

Derek closed his eyes, drawing in a steady breath. “I got into an altercation with another Alpha,” he simply put.

“Did you know them?” Stiles asked.

“Ennis.”

“You attacked Ennis?”

Derek opened his eyes to look at Stiles. “Ennis attacked me.”

Stiles frowned. “Why?”

Derek looked away from Stiles. “Because I refused his offer.”

“Offer?” Stiles asked. Such a thing perplexed him, wondering why someone like Ennis would approach Derek in the first place.

Derek looked at Stiles. “I don’t know how, but they know,” he softly answered. “About Natalia.”

A sudden chill ran down Stiles’ spine. He was thankful that he left Natalia with his father. Part of him wondered, though, if distance from himself and Derek truly meant she was safe. “They?”

“Deucalion and his pack,” Derek explained.

Stiles shook his head. “How? How could they know anything?”

“I don’t know,” Derek partially growled, as if he had spent the last few days begrudgingly trying to figure it out. “Perhaps one of the servants likes to gossip and let it slip. Or maybe it’s because Natalia looks like a Hale, but not like Peter. Or maybe it’s because of the fucking way I look at you.”

Stiles looked at Derek. He slid his hand up the blanketed mattress, easily slipping his hand into Derek’s. He brushed his thumb over Derek’s knuckles, hoping it was a welcomed gestured. “Did he threaten to tell Peter?” He softly asked.

Derek shook his head. “He asked if I still rejected their offer. And when I told him I’d never accept such terms, he replied that it was a shame—that they’d …” His voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t bring himself to speak such things.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“That they’d get to have you either way,” Derek answered, looking at Stiles.

“They offered you something in return for giving me to them?” Stiles asked, his voice small and tight.

Derek shuffled his weight a bit, turning his body towards Stiles. “He asked me months ago, when … when Jonathon was born,” he softly spoke.

Stiles closed his eyes, nodding for Derek to continue.

“Ennis said that Deucalion was offering me a chance to join their pack—that they’d handle Peter, and I could have … I could have everything I wanted then. That both you and Natalia could be mine,” Derek released a heavy sigh.

“That sounds perfect, like you could have everything,” Stiles commented.

“Omegas in Deucalion’s pack don’t have one Alpha,” Derek explained, looking at Stiles. “They’re passed around—shared. That’s what Deucalion wants, Stiles. But you’re not some object to be passed around and raped.”

“He’s angry about not winning the bid for my hand,” Stiles stated.

“He’s a proud and arrogant bastard,” Derek bitterly replied. “Like every Alpha.”

Stiles slid closer to Derek, reaching his other hand up to touch Derek’s shoulder. “Derek—”

“I called you a whore and Natalia a bastard,” Derek corrected Stiles before he could even start comforting him.

Stiles stared at Derek, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“When I spoke with your father before you left,” Derek answered. “I wanted to make him take you home and away from this place—away from Peter … and me.”

Stiles looked away from Derek, faintly nodded. “I understand that. But did you mean it?”

Derek looked at Stiles, his eyes scanning Stiles’ face.

“Do you really think I’m a whore?” Stiles elaborated.

“No,” Derek replied. “You’re far from it.”

“Even though I willingly climb into your bed at any chance I get,” Stiles countered.

“You belong there,” Derek answered. “If it’s where you want to be.”

Stiles finally turned to look at Derek.

“I want you there, and if you want to be, I would be happier than anything,” Derek stated.

“I am a whore, Derek,” Stiles faintly argued.

“We’re adulterers,” Derek countered, correcting Stiles. “Both of us are, by technicality. But I don’t care—and neither will the world once I kill Peter.”

Stiles snuck a glace at Derek.

“I never really cared about propriety, or about what the world thought,” Derek explained. “And once you’re free of Peter, if you still want to be with me—”

“I do,” Stiles answered. “I do, Derek.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Derek’s shoulder as he curled into him. He did his best to aviod Derek’s wounds, not wanting to cause him more pain.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles, his hand running along Stiles’ spine.

“I’m sorry I blamed you,” Stiles softly stated. “I wished I could have told you that before you left. I was … I was scared, and still grieving Jonathon.”

“You were in the right,” Derek answered, pressing his cheek into Stiles’ hair. “You shouldn’t accept less than what you deserve. And you deserve so much more than all this.”

Stiles shook his head, leaning back to look at Derek. “I was angry, and scared that I was going to be stuck with Peter again.” He cupped Derek’s cheek in his hand. “I love you. And I don’t want to lose you.”

Derek frowned. “Stiles, I—”

“Please,” Stiles started. “Don’t. Just … don’t. I don’t blame you for anything, Derek. If you casted Peter from this house, he’d just take me with him. And then I wouldn’t have the Betas, or the hope of you coming home sooner.”

Derek reached a hand out to touch Stiles’ cheek. He leaned forward, wanting to kiss Stiles. He hesitated, his thumb brushing against Stiles’ bottom lip.

Stiles pressed in, kissing Derek. He gently touched his forehead against Derek’s. “Lydia is holding a party tonight,” he uttered, closing his eyes as he released a sigh. “I have to go with Peter. But I’ll have Lydia and Allison.”

Derek reached out to touch Stiles’ shoulders. He gently ran his hands along Stiles’ arms in what he hoped was a comforting way. “If Deucalion’s there, don’t let him corner you.”

“I won’t,” Stiles softly uttered.

~*~

Stiles was grateful that Allison and Lydia kept him company that night. He found himself holding Allison’s son—Victor—as a hollowness pulled at his heart. His sadly smiled at small child sitting in his lap as he listened to Victor’s attempts at reading the small book before them. He held the book open for Victor, smiling as he listened to him read. “You read very well,” he smiled as he spoke, leaning to the side in order to see Victor’s face.

“Thank you,” Victor softly answered. He looked at Stiles with a smile.

“I think it’s time for bed, darling,” Allison stated as she moved to take Victor from Stiles’ lap.

“Okay,” Victor sighed in acceptance. He turned to hug Stiles before reaching for his mother.

“Good night,” Stiles bid in parting as he waved to Victor.

Lydia smiled as she moved to sit with Stiles. “Are you alright?”

Stiles looked at Lydia. “Your son is very beautiful,” he stated instead. “I regret that I hadn’t met him before.”

Lydia reached a hand to take hold of Stiles’ own. She smiled at him, running her fingertips along Stiles’ knuckles. “You need not to stand on airs with us, Stiles. I know that what you’ve been through is great—and I regret that we were not allowed to see you sooner.”

Stiles shook his head. “I didn’t want to be seen by anyone,” he honestly answered. “Even now, I wish that I was home.”

Lydia frowned. “Is Derek alright?”

“He’s recovering,” Stiles replied. “I’m afraid what will happen when Peter finally decides what will be a sound punishment.”

“But Derek defended himself,” Lydia stated.

“That doesn’t matter to Peter,” Stiles corrected her. “It’s hard to decipher what is.”

Lydia released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I wish we could have done more for you.”

Stiles shook his head. “You’ve both been busy. And Peter wasn’t going to allow me a moment’s rest.”

Lydia was about to reply, suddenly startled by the loud commotion coming from the other room. She rolled her eyes, muttering something about drunken, buffoonish Alphas. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she stated as she moved to stand, releasing her hold on Stiles’ hand.

Stiles watched Lydia go before turning his attentions to himself. He picked at the material of his vest, curious if he should have worn something fancier. He had dressed in a haze, his thoughts focused on Derek’s health and when he could return home. He had forgone his corset, but gladly wore his high collar, keeping his neck hidden from wandering eyes.

“Remarkable,” a voice commented, startling Stiles from his thoughts.

Stiles looked up to find an older gentleman standing next to the couch, a flute of champagne in each hand. He looked at the glass the man offered to him, his expression unchanged as he looked up at the man. He looked at the gestured glass with little interest, before reluctantly taking the glass. He moved to sit it on the table that was in front of the couch, not caring if the man felt insulted.

“You haven’t been to many parties this past season,” the man started, his gaze lingering on Stiles.

“I have had little need to,” Stiles answered.

“I regretted missing my opportunity to meet you,” the man stated.

Stiles looked at the man, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He knew Peter was off somewhere, likely planning out his next conquest with one of the several attractive Alphas in attendance. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you.”

“I only got to meet your father,” the man explained. “Years ago, when you were first being presented, Omega Stilinski.”

Stiles stared at the man—the Alpha. “Hale,” he corrected the man, making a move to stand. He flinched when the man placed his hand on his shoulder, nearly pushing him back into the couch. “Please remove your hand,” he snapped at the man.

“No need for such passion,” the Alpha stated.

“I’m a married Omega,” Stiles corrected the Alpha. “My Alpha would not appreciate a stranger touching me without consent.”

The Alpha smiled. “Peter’s given a great deal of consent, actually,” he corrected Stiles, moving to sit by him.

Stiles slid closer to the armrest, making sure to put as much distance between himself and the man as possible.

“There’s been a few things we have yet to make ironclad,” the Alpha continued to explain. “There have been rumors, about what you look like beneath that collar.” He reached a hand out, his knuckle caressing against Stiles’ knee, drifting up the side of Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles looked at the man, offering a tightly fake smile as he leaned forward and grabbed his forgotten champagne glass. He leaned back, easily pouring the liquid onto the Alpha’s intruding hand and part of his leg. He tossed the forgotten glass onto the table as he got up to leave the man behind. He startled when he found Peter standing there in front of him, blocking his escape from the room.

Peter was not happy, the anger evident in his features.

Stiles wondered how he was going to act in public with an Alpha that crossed the line with him.

“Deucalion,” Peter addressed the man behind Stiles.

Stiles felt his blood run cold, knowing that Peter’s anger was directed at him and not the Alpha— _Deucalion_. He slowly turned around to look at Deucalion, watching the older man brush a hand at the excess champagne staining part of his trousers.

“You said he had _spirit_ ,” Deucalion calmly commented. “I’d be lying if I said I’m disappointed.”

Peter offered a faint grunt.

Deucalion turned his head towards the ballroom, where music began to loudly play once more. “May I steal your Omega—for the waltz, of course.”

Stiles didn’t try to hide his glare, even as Peter said yes. He looked at Deucalion’s hand when he offered it to him before turning away and heading to the dance floor. He ignored the looks he was getting—most of them were looks of intrigue, some of them trying to hide how impressed they were with him rejecting an Alpha like Deucalion.

Stiles turned in place once he reached the corner of the dance floor. He looked at Deucalion, turning his head away from the Alpha when he stepped closer.

“You’re passionate,” Deucalion commented as he took hold of Stiles’ hand.

“I’m hostile,” Stiles corrected him, electing to keep his other hand barely touching Deucalion’s shoulder.

“I suppose that fits the Hale pack well,” Deucalion answered.

Stiles snorted in response.

“You look lovely this evening, regardless of your hostility,” Deucalion continued. “You especially look radiant after such a travesty happened to you.”

Stiles turned a glare on Deucalion, daring him to count his blessings should he utter another word.

“I speak of your nephew, of course,” Deucalion artfully answered.

Stiles decided that his hatred of Deucalion could know no bounds.

“Terrible thing that happened,” Deucalion absently spoke as Stiles stubbornly remained silent. “He killed poor Ennis.”

“Derek was defending himself,” Stiles finally stated.

“And in doing so, Derek served me a great insult,” Deucalion stated, his hand moving to rest on Stiles’ waist. “He killed a member of _my_ pack.”

“Ennis attacked Derek,” Stiles simply replied, turning his head away from Deucalion. “Derek can’t be blamed for defending himself. Ennis should have known that Derek would defend himself.”

“Peter still owes me retribution,” Deucalion explained.

“You can’t have Derek,” Stiles replied, turning to look at Deucalion.

Deucalion smiled at Stiles. “It’s amusing that you believe I’d ask for him.”

Stiles’ glare intensified. “And what would Peter give to you, should you ask for it?”

“A night with you,” Deucalion simply replied.

“I’m not an object to be bartered with,” Stiles answered.

“No, but you are a possession meant to please,” Deucalion lowly corrected Stiles. “And you’ve stop pleasing Peter.”

“I heard about your definition of pleasure,” Stiles snapped, glaring at Deucalion. “It’s strapping down a helpless Omega and allowing your pack to violate them.”

“Every single one of my Omegas begs to be touched by every pack member,” Deucalion replied.

“I don’t,” Stiles angrily countered.

“You have spirit,” Deucalion commented. “That’s the sweetest thing to take away from an Omega.” He reached a hand up, leaving his grasp on Stiles’ hip, fingertips caressing Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles turned his head out of Deucalion’s grasp. “To beat out of them, you mean.”

Deucalion smiled, allowing his hand to fall away from Stiles’ face. “No, to train an Omega what it means to submit is much more than just brute force. And in the end, it’s worth the effort—to have someone as reluctant as you suddenly beneath me, begging to be bred.”

“You’re disgusting,” Stiles lowly stated.

“You’re acting as if you don’t slither into Derek’s bed the moment Peter leaves,” Deucalion countered.

Stiles stared at Deucalion, keeping his steps calculated as he kept dancing.

“Is it true that your girl is a bastard?” Deucalion asked. “She looks a great deal like Natalia,” he offered. “But how little she resembles Peter.”

Stiles turned his gaze from Deucalion. “Do you have a reason for trying to corner me?”

“Have I driven you into a corner?” Deucalion smartly asked.

“You’re touching me,” Stiles answered, looking at Deucalion. “The fact that Peter even allowed you to touch me is taking away my right to walk away from you. That’s a corner of itself.”

Deucalion smiled as the dance began to come to an end. “Perhaps I won’t ask Peter for that night just yet.” He moved his hand to settle low on Stiles’ back. “Perhaps when the young Hale tires of you, and your Alpha finally sees you for the whore you are.”

“If I’m a whore,” Stiles lowly started, glaring up at Deucalion. “I’m not _your_ whore.” He reached a hand behind himself, grasping hold of Deucalion’s hand in order to shove it away from him. He took a step back from Deucalion, giving the necessary bow before turning away from him. He didn’t startle when Deucalion grabbed his arm, merely whirling around to face the man. “Let go.”

“You think highly of yourself,” Deucalion answered. “Perhaps you do need a good beating to counter that attitude,” he uttered in a low voice.

Stiles ripped his arm from Deucalion’s grasp. His anger was barely hidden, knowing that he couldn’t keep it contained indefinitely. He moved to leave Deucalion behind, knowing Derek had been right—he should have argued against Peter offering him as a dance partner.

“Cheer up,” Deucalion softly offered, a smile in his voice. “Maybe with that night, I’ll give you a pup strong enough to live.”

Stiles turned, blindly swinging his clawed hand at Deucalion. His claws ripped through Deucalion’s skin, drawing blood with ease. All he could see was the blood coming from Deucalion’s face, the Alpha suddenly covering his eye.

The audible gasp rushed through the room, everyone’s conversations coming to a halt when they turned their heads to see the result of such a spectacle.

Tears burned in Stiles’ eyes as he glared at Deucalion, his breathing heavy as he fought off another panic attack. His mind was plastered with images of Jonathon’s small body wrapped in blankets as Derek placed their son in the tiny coffin.

Lydia was immediately by Stiles’ side, pulling him against her chest as she steered him towards a secluded spot, near the couch he had been on earlier. “Catch your breathing, please,” she softly instructed him as she carried him away from the bustling crowd.

Stiles had been sitting but a moment when Peter grabbed his arm, yanking him up off the couch.

“What did you do?” Peter demanded, tightening his grip on Stiles’ arm.

Stiles remained silent as Peter shook him. Tears were still burning his eyes, his chest hurting as he thought about Jonathon. His lip trembled as he fought back against his fangs elongating, his shift prepared to take control.

“Peter, please,” Lydia started.

“I think I can handle my own Omega fine, Alpha Martin,” Peter snarled at Lydia.

“He got what he deserved,” Stiles finally snapped.

“He is your better,” Peter stated.

“If he is my better, then perhaps _you_ should fuck your own way into his pack,” Stiles loudly stated. He barely lost his balance when Peter smacked him. He was jostled as Lydia shoved Peter away from him. He allowed Lydia to pull him against her, a protective arm wrapped around him.

“I believe you should retire for the evening, Alpha Hale,” Lydia lowly stated, her voice daring Peter to question her obvious command in her own home.

Stiles turned his head to see several of the growing crowd glancing at him with looks of concern. He knew Peter had caused an unforgivable scene in front of others that couldn’t be controlled as their household always was. He allowed Lydia to assist him back towards the couch. He barely listened as Lydia explained that Deucalion’s eye was nearly gone, his claw having torn the organ from the socket. He felt numb, as if he was spiraling downward, and all he wanted was to go home and be with Derek.

~*~

Stiles was thankful when Lydia offered one of her carriages to bring him home. He didn’t care if Peter was mad that he left without him, wanting to get home to Derek and where he felt safe. He felt calmer once he was home, taking solace in the fact that he was allowed a reprieve from Peter.

Stiles nearly collapsed against Derek’s bed, his body exhausted—both physically and emotionally. He forced a small smile as he looked down at Derek’s hand holding his. He threaded their fingers together, looking up at Derek.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, knowing something was weighing on Stiles. He propped himself up, easily rousing himself from his sleep addled state. “What happened?”

Stiles wordlessly moved to hug Derek, releasing his hold on Derek’s hand in order to wrap his arms around him. He pressed his face into Derek’s shoulder, seeking the comfort he knew he’d find there. He closed his eyes as he breathed in Derek’s scent, grounding himself in the surety that he was safe.

Derek slowly wrapped his arm around Stiles, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck. He gently nosed against Stiles’ neck, trailing up behind Stiles’ ear. He could smell the spark of an Alpha lingering on Stiles’ skin. He knew the scent, only ever smelling it in a faint but lingering smell. _Deucalion_.

“What happened?” Derek nearly growled. He held Stiles against his chest, keeping him close. “Did he touch you?”

Stiles released a soft sob, an unbearable pain finally cracking in his chest as he pushed into Derek. “He wants me,” he admitted. “Peter doesn’t care— he’d probably enjoy Deucalion raping me.”

Derek rubbed his hand over Stiles’ back, hoping he could comfort him in the slightest.

“He said that he was going to spend a night with me, a penance for Ennis failing to kill you,” Stiles cried, twisting his hands in Derek’s shirt. “To breed me—to give me a child that—” His voice cracked, giving way to the sobs as he pressed his face into Derek’s collarbone. “I don’t want that— I don’t.” He held onto Derek until they both deflated into the mattress.

Derek held Stiles’ trembling body against him, settling both of them in the bed. He kept silent as he comforted Stiles, waiting out the trembles that shook through Stiles’ body.

Stiles was resting against Derek’s chest, his hand resting over one of Derek’s many wounds. His thumb brushed over the scar that already started to turn pink. He lifted his head up, beginning to pull himself away from Derek. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Derek quickly stated, his arm still around Stiles, his hand resting along Stiles’ back. “You never have to apologize, Stiles.”

Stiles reached his hand up, his fingertips brushing along Derek’s beard. “We should go to my father’s,” he uttered. “Just get away from it all.”

Derek weakly shook his head. “There’s no running from this, Stiles.”

Stiles closed his eyes, moving to rest his head back on Derek’s chest. “I just want to stay here.”

Derek trailed his hand up and down Stiles’ back, turning his head to press a kiss into Stiles’ hair. “We’ll be able to—soon enough.”

~*~

“I’m staying,” Stiles firmly stated as he stood his ground against Peter. He didn’t care if he was going to flip out—he wasn’t going to leave with Peter on another business trip. He knew Peter was attempting to right the wrong that was put on display for all to see. He had clawed out Alpha Deucalion’s eye—and everyone agreed that it was acceptable for a grieving Stiles to react in such a manner. He knew Peter saw it differently, and was likely planning on bringing him to Deucalion as an apology.

“The Betas can care for Derek,” Peter huffed.

“And so can I,” Stiles countered.

“You’ve already worn out the small place you _had_ in my good graces,” Peter snapped. “Don’t test me.”

“Test you?” Stiles bitterly asked. “What has tested you, dear Alpha? You don’t know the meaning of that word.”

Peter turned to look at Stiles.

“I’m going to stay here because I despise you,” Stiles started. “I’m not going to cower under your heel anymore.”

Peter took a step towards Stiles. “And what makes you think you’re allowed to move from under my boot?”

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. “Because I have yet to play the role of the wronged Omega,” he calmly stated.

Peter narrowed his gaze at Stiles.

“It’s no secret that you have affairs,” Stiles stated. “Everyone stares at me in pity, thinking I’ve been ignorant about it from the start. But I’m not playing games anymore.”

“And you were playing one to begin with?” Peter flatly asked.

“Yes, but only because keeping up with this charade of a marriage benefits Natalia,” Stiles answered. “I will be the subject of pity and ridicule now that I’ve lost a child and can’t seem to keep my husband in my bed. I can endure that, Peter, just as I’ve endured you.”

“Rousing speech,” Peter mocked.

“It’s not meant to rouse you,” Stiles practically growled. “Refuse to loosen your leash around my neck, and I promise you that I will play every part of the wronged Omega.” He took a step towards Peter. “I will claw any mistress’s face I can. I will not watch my tongue while in an Alpha’s presence. I will make every noble pack agree that they would rather shun you and your business ventures than to have me invited into their midst.”

Peter observed Stiles, looking over him. “And where was this Omega when we married?”

Stiles glared at Peter. “You beat him into me.”

Peter forced a smile. “You make it hard to refuse such an offer.” He nodded, refusing to verbally accept.

Stiles turned from Peter, walking away with ease.

~*~

“Are you sorry?” Stiles asked, as he sat at the edge of Derek’s bed. He didn’t care about appropriate distance now that Peter had left.

Derek looked at Stiles. “About?”

“About us,” Stiles answered.

Derek shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I am.”

Stiles smiled at that. “Neither can I,” he concurred, moving to lean over Derek. He pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips, reaching a hand up to cup Derek’s face. His fingers trailed along Derek’s beard, moving to slip into Derek’s hair.

Derek pressed into the kiss, pulling Stiles closer.

“Are you well enough?” Stiles breathlessly asked, gently nipping at Derek’s bottom lip. “Will you make love to me tonight?”

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles, easily flipping them to press Stiles into the bed. “Always,” he stated, deepening their kiss. “Whenever, wherever you want me.”

Stiles ran his hands through Derek’s hair, pulling him close. “Treat me like an Alpha should,” he breathed into their kiss. “Fuck me. Make me yours.”

Derek paused his movements, his body bracketing Stiles against the bed. He closed his eyes as Stiles’ bit down on his bottom lip, working it between his teeth. His wolf was so close to the edge, tearing at his skin with the need to claim what was his.

“I just want to feel you,” Stiles softly uttered, leaning his head back into the pillow. “Just you.”

Derek slowly leaned back, his body recoiling into a sitting position as he settled between Stiles’ legs. His hands trailed along Stiles’ torso, his fingernails racking down over the fabric of Stiles’ corseted vest. He remembered seeing Stiles in it this morning before Peter left—an attempt to play at obeying such an absurd demand that he be the ever-tamed and obedient Omega. He hooked his fingers under the sides of the corset, his claw finding the seams with ease. He wouldn’t lie if asked—Stiles looked gorgeous in the corset, as he did in anything he wore. But he still hated the infernal thing—a reminder of the cage Peter forced Stiles into. He had no love for the thing.

Stiles inhaled a sharp breath when Derek easily tore the seams of his corset with a simple jerk of his hands, the material ripping apart under the Alpha’s strength. He stared up at Derek, seeing the red of his eyes glowing as a backdrop to his normal green.

Derek moved his hands to Stiles’ shirt, tearing the buttons off in one fluid motion as he jerked Stiles’ shirt open. He left the material hanging from Stiles’ body, his hands finally caressing Stiles’ soft skin. His fingertips traced over the moles scattered across Stiles’ skin. He easily hunched over to press kisses into Stiles’ skin, sucking a hickey over the mole just below Stiles’ nipple. His teeth grazed over Stiles’ nipple, his tongue laving at the sensitive nub. He released a soft groan when Stiles shifted his hips against him, grinding down against his growing erection.

Stiles’ hands grasped at Derek’s hair, twisting the locks between his fingers as he moaned. He undulated his hips, moving against Derek with little difficulty, neither one of them wanting to relinquish their hold on the other.

Derek’s mouth finally moved on from Stiles’ nipple, gently nipping it as a parting before moving his way down Stiles’ body. His hands ran along Stiles’ sides as he lowered himself, his lips barely caressing Stiles’ navel when he felt Stiles’ claws suddenly digging into his scalp, a harsh grip yanking on his hair in a demand that he move back up. He lifted his lips from Stiles’ skin, looking up at him.

Stiles’ eyes were glowing, his fangs barely visible beneath his parting lips. His lips were trembling as he shook his head. “I’m not—” He closed his eyes. “Don’t look at it, please.”

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed before he realized that Stiles was referring to the birthing scar. He could feel the scar beneath his thumb as his hands gripped Stiles’ hips. “Stiles—”

“I’m not ready for that,” Stiles explained. “Just— please, Derek.”

Derek pressed a reassuring kiss to Stiles’ lips.

~*~

Stiles’ hips quivered as he tried to keep his balance, completely spread out over the sheets he was crying into. His hands twisted into the sheets as Derek continued to rim him. He gasped in pleasure, his knees buckling to force his body upwards and away from Derek. He cried out as his entire body trembled, completely confused how to react to the pleasure Derek was giving him. He reached back, trying to grab Derek’s hair in a pointless attempt to get him closer.

“Derek,” Stiles moaned, turning his head into the pillow as Derek pressed a slicked finger into him.

“Tell me what you want,” Derek’s voice sounded wrecked, as if he was the one being pleasured. “Where do you want me?”

“In me,” Stiles nearly growled as he pushed back against Derek. A moan jumped from his throat when Derek bit down on the curve of his cheek in retaliation.

Derek straightened up, his hands gripping Stiles’ hips as he ran his cock along Stiles’ hole. His hand caressed Stiles’ spine as he held himself steady, slowly pressing into Stiles with ease.

Stiles released a heavy whine, reaching his arm backwards in a failed attempt to touch Derek.

Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles’ arm, yanking him up against his chest, his cock bottoming out in Stiles’ heat. He mouthed at the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, sucking a hickey into Stiles’ skin. He wrapped his arm around Stiles, holding him flat against his chest.

Stiles ran his hand along Derek’s arm, panting as his head fell back onto Derek’s shoulder. “I love you,” he breathed as he closed his eyes, pressing his head closer to Derek.

“Heaven be damned, I love you,” Derek uttered as he kissed Stiles. He knew he couldn’t live without this—without Stiles pulled back against his chest, the curve of Stiles’ ass fit snugly into the curve of his hips. They fit together everywhere, Stiles’ soft skin meeting the burned scars across Derek’s body. He ran his hand up Stiles’ throat, his palm gently casing around the soft skin, his thumb caressing up into the dip just under Stiles’ chin.

Stiles whimpered as Derek moved.

Derek thrust his hips at a slow pace, building up a rhythm that they both could get used to. He turned to mouthing at Stiles’ shoulder, closing his eyes as he focused on not coming too soon.

Stiles dug his nails into Derek’s forearm, begging for Derek to keep going. He fell forward when Derek pushed him down onto the bed, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as his body moved with Derek’s. He tried to meet Derek thrust for thrust, a sharp zing of pleasure running up his spine as his arms collapsed him against the bed.

Whatever Derek was doing, he refused to stop punching pleasure through Stiles.

Stiles shifted his legs open wider as he felt the familiar tug of Derek’s knot, knowing that they’d be tied together in moments. He couldn’t stop his voice from cracking when he released an audible moan, all his muscles tightening as he came. He remained faced down on the bed, his body limp and dazed with pleasure when Derek’s knot took.

Derek bent over Stiles, Derek’s body blanketing his. His arms slotted beneath Stiles’ as he helped to lift Stiles off the bed at least an inch. He pressed kisses to Stiles’ neck, trailing along Stiles’ sweaty skin. His breathing was heavy, his chest panting out against Stiles’ back as he tried to calm himself.

“Are you okay?” Derek hoarsely asked.

Stiles silently nodded his head, bringing his arms in tightly around Derek’s. He wanted to keep Derek there, shielding him completely.

Derek turned them with ease, making sure not to cause either of them pain. He kept Stiles tightly against his chest as he pulled the blanket up to cover them both.

“Don’t let go,” Stiles uttered, his fingers entwining with Derek’s.

“Never,” Derek stated against the shell of Stiles’ ear, placing a gentle kiss just behind Stiles’ ear.

~*~

Stiles woke in a fever, climbing on top of Derek as he shuffled enough to wake the Alpha. He was in heat, and he needed Derek.

Derek was happy to oblige, his hands holding Stiles’ hips as he let Stiles straddle his waist. He failed at keeping himself in control, his body practically jackknifing when his knot formed, pushing deep inside Stiles.

Stiles could only remember coming twice before blacking out.

~*~

Stiles woke in the early hours of the morning. He smiled to himself as he reached a hand up to touch Derek’s arms, recalling that his heat had lasted at least a few days, making him hopeful that Erica was decent enough to write to his father and let him know he hadn’t died on his suicide mission to save Derek. He pushed back against Derek’s chest, loving the soft huff of air Derek released as Derek’s arms tightened around his chest. He turned to look at Derek, moving his body some in order to better face Derek.

Derek’s hair was a mess, tuffs pointed every which way from Stiles’ yanking on them. He looked exhausted, as if he was still recovering from his brush with death the other day. He was calmly breathing, his hands still stretched out in an unaware attempt to keep touching Stiles.

Stiles smiled to himself, blinking his sleep away as he looked up at the ceiling. His vision was a little blurry, still exhausted from his heat. He wiped a hand at his eyes, trying to physically force it away. His gaze swiveled around the room, his eyes landing on the chair by the fireplace.

More importantly, there was a figure sitting in the chair.

Stiles released a loud gasp, his body scrambling to sit upright and get closer to Derek—further away from the shadowed outline of Peter. He grabbed the blanket to hold it up around himself, foolishly trying to hide his naked body.

Derek reacted to Stiles’ fear, his body immediately jolting upright as he took in their surroundings. He reached an arm out to put in front of Stiles’ chest, forcing him back towards the headboard and safely behind him.

“Please, don’t stand on airs for me,” Peter calmly stated as he remained seated. “It’s not every day you get to see your Omega being fucked from this angle.”

Stiles’ grip on Derek’s arm tightened as he pressed his face against Derek’s shoulder, trying to make himself smaller in order to hide from Peter’s gaze.

“Now you know,” Derek started as his arm curled around Stiles, prepared to shove him away if Peter attacked either of them.

Peter suddenly laughed—a cruel, bitter sound barking from his chest. “Now I know,” he stated in amusement. “And now, I suppose, I can kill you for it.” He moved to stand.

“I challenge you,” Derek quickly stated before Peter could even rise to his feet.

Peter stilled.

Derek glared at his uncle, his gaze unwavering. “Do you hear me? I, Alpha Derek Hale, challenge _you_ , Alpha Peter Hale.”

Peter’s lip ticked in annoyance. “For?”

“For my right,” Derek sharply answered. “For the role of Pack Alpha. And for the right to call both Omega Stiles Hale and Natalia Hale my own.”

Peter looked at Stiles, his anger evident.

“Do you accept?” Derek pushed.

“I do,” Peter lowly answered. “And when I crush your skull in, dear nephew, know that I’ll be doing the same to Natalia.”

Stiles startled from his hiding spot behind Derek, looking at Peter. “You won’t touch her—”

“And I’ll be giving you to Deucalion’s pack, since you enjoy being bred so much,” Peter snapped at Stiles as he turned to exit the room. “I expect you at dawn,” he shouted back to Derek as he left them both behind.

Stiles clung to Derek, pressing up against Derek’s back as he tried to keep him close. He pressed his face into Derek’s shoulder, trying to hide the tears that burned his eyes.

Derek kept his arm around Stiles, knowing that there was no other inevitable ending than this one. He just prayed that the Alpha spark he ripped from Ennis was enough to put an end to all their suffering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:
> 
> Deucalion makes threats of rape against Stiles, revealing that his plan the entire time was to have the Hale pack self-implode before swooping in to get what he believes to rightly belong to him: Stiles.
> 
> Also, language. Derek calls Stiles a whore to John, hoping that he'll be enraged enough to take Stiles home with him. John does not act kindly to hearing his son being called that, and confronts Derek. Derek admits to Stiles that he called him a whore, and they talk about it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Finally, I managed to finish this emotional journey! I hope you all enjoyed it, as much as you could. I like where this story has gone and how it has turned out.
> 
> Please feel free to leave kudos and comments, letting me know if you want more stories like this one.

Stiles’ hands were steady as he helped dress Derek, his mind racing with thoughts of what was to come of them both. He knew that he didn’t want to live in a world without Derek, but his thoughts immediately went to Natalia and his father—how he couldn’t leave them behind. His stomach twisted when he thought of Peter’s threat against Natalia and himself. He’s fight Peter to the bitter end if he had to—he wasn’t letting anyone hurt his child.

Derek placed his hands over Stiles’, stilling their motion to help him tighten the laces of his shirt. He curled his fingers over Stiles’ as he pressed their foreheads together.

Stiles closed his eyes as he released a heavy breath.

“I want you to go to your father’s,” Derek lightly stated, hoping it was enough to convince Stiles of the necessity.

Stiles shook his head. “No,” he argued. “If you’re going to fight for our lives—”

“I can’t concentrate on fighting Peter if I know you’re there,” Derek answered.

“Am I a distraction?” Stiles incredulously asked.

“Yes,” Derek honestly answered. “I’m more concerned with your safety than anything else.”

Stiles closed his eyes, a sharp intake of breath burning his chest. “Derek, I can’t leave you here.”

“You’re not,” Derek answered. “Go home to your father’s—keep Natalia and yourself safe. I’ll come for you when this is over.”

“And if something happens?” Stiles demanded. “If I never see you again?”

“Isaac will come for you,” Derek answered.

“Don’t ask me to leave you,” Stiles pushed. “That’s cruel.”

“I love you,” Derek firmly stated as he grabbed Stiles’ arms, holding tightly. “And if that makes me cruel for wanting to keep you safe, then I will be as cruel as I need to be.”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed, closing his eyes as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Derek pulled Stiles in, holding him tightly against his chest as he wrapped his arms around Stiles. He pressed a kiss into Stiles’ hair. “I’ll come back to you.”

“You better,” Stiles softly answered, pressing his face into the curve of Derek’s shoulder.

~*~

Stiles was calm as he continued to knit the yarn into the garment he was trying to make resemble a hat. He pretended that he didn’t see how sad and unresponsive Natalia had been the past few hours. He had come home in a rush, pretending to be calm in front of her before breaking down once he was alone with his father. He couldn’t keep himself from crying, thoughts of Derek’s death plaguing him—thoughts of Peter hurting Natalia continued to haunt him.

Natalia silently observed Stiles afterwards, quietly hugging her father in what she hoped was a calming manner. She obediently sat beside him during dinner, picking at her food before softly uttering that she wasn’t hungry.

For all Natalia’s pretenses, Stiles knew she was worried about Derek. He had hoped Derek would have come back with him, at least seeing Natalia before heading off to confront Peter.

Natalia now sat on the ground by Stiles’ feet, her hands holding the yarn out in an easy oval shape to keep the yarn ball from unraveling. Her lips pursed tightly when John told her it was bedtime. “I want to stay up with Papa,” she replied, looking at Stiles.

Stiles looked at Natalia before his gaze drifted over to his father. He didn’t want her to leave him alone tonight. “She’s fine,” he softly stated. “She always knows when she’s tired enough to sleep.”

John frowned some. “Well,” he sighed. “I guess we should do something besides just knitting.”

“Knitting’s fun,” Stiles countered, looking at Natalia. “Right?”

Natalia faintly shrugged, smiling a little when Stiles pretended to be insulted by her gesture.

“Well, what would you do for fun, little miss?” Stiles asked.

Natalia paused, as if she was thinking harder than she needed to. “You could sing to us.”

Stiles smiled at that. It felt as if it had been too long since Stiles sang to her. He moved to set down his knitting, shifting to sit further back in his chair. He opened his arms to Natalia, gesturing for her to come sit in his lap.

Natalia scrambled up from the ground, prepared to leap into her father’s lap. She missed being able to curl up against him, tucked safely against his chest. She hesitated as she moved to climb up the chair, remembering how often she had been warned of being gentle ever since her brother’s birth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Stiles softly coaxed her closer to him, lifting her up with ease.

Natalia arranged herself to sit in Stiles’ lap, sinking under the nook of his arm. She laid her head against Stiles’ shoulder, curled against his chest.

~*~

“Do you agree to the terms?” Lydia questioned both Derek and Peter as she sat before the paper drafted up in order to legalize their dispute. She had agreed to be the witness to their agreement—a challenge for the position of Hale pack Alpha, and the right to Omega Hale and Natalia Hale.

“Yes,” Derek stated, having hovered as the paper as it was drafted.

Peter barely moved in acknowledgment. He offered the faintest of nods in response.

Lydia signed her name on the allotted line, the pen scratching inked loops across the parchment. She looked down at her signature, frowning at the magnitude of the decision she made in being their witness. She was happy that Derek had finally challenged Peter, but she had hoped it would have come at a lesser cost—knowing that more than just Stiles’ happiness relied on Derek’s survival now. She wondered if she could protect Stiles should something happen.

“Now, with your affairs in order, you are free to begin your duel,” Lydia formally announced, folding the papers proportionally. She poured the melted wax onto the paper, pressing her own wax seal into it. She sighed, leaning back into her chair as she looked up at both Peter and Derek. “Once the dawning hour begins, there is no going back from this.” She looked from Derek to Peter.

“I’ll be glad to be done with all this,” Peter stated with no remorse.

Derek didn’t bother to look up at Peter when he left.

“Do you think this was wise?” Lydia questioned as she remained seated.

“Could you think of an alternative?” Derek countered, looking at Lydia.

“Stiles needs you,” Lydia plainly stated, her gaze unmoving.

“He doesn’t need me,” Derek answered. “He never _needed_ me.”

“When you love someone, it becomes a necessity to have them in your life,” Lydia replied.

“I’d rather he be safe and happy than still suffering,” Derek stated. “And that is because I love him.” He looked at Lydia, feeling her eyes on him. “Is it wrong to want to protect him with my life, when I’ve been the cause of so much of his trauma.”

“You’ve been the source of his joy,” Lydia countered as she leaned forward in her chair. She reached a hand out to touch Derek’s arm, forcing him to stop retreating. “You’ve managed to keep him happy and loved. You are _not_ your uncle.”

Derek looked at Lydia’s hand resting on his arm.

“And if you think you are, then you’re a fool,” Lydia softly stated. “And more importantly, if you don’t return to him and your daughter, I’ll never forgive you.”

Derek offered a faint nod, understanding her words as encouragement not to lose faith in himself or the future he could have. He placed his hand over Lydia’s, his thumb brushing over Lydia’s knuckles in an affirming gesture.

Lydia left in a promptly manner, hurrying off to take care of the necessary paperwork before it was all to transpire. Part of her had been afraid for Derek, knowing that he would have to push himself to cut the last ties he had holding him to Peter. No matter how weak those ties were, Lydia knew they would be difficult to cut, having watched Allison struggle with it. She left both Hales on their own, hoping they would have enough sense to wait until the appointed time.

“After everything,” Peter uttered when Derek emerged from the room they had been sitting in with Lydia.

“What?” Derek partially demanded, not caring if they fought right now.

“How long have you been fucking what isn’t yours?” Peter snapped.

“I consoled him when you wouldn’t,” Derek answered.

“You expect me to believe that after he lost my child, you slithered into his bed only then?”

“Believe what you want, Peter,” Derek replied. “Nothing will change what has happened.”

“It wasn’t enough to covet him, was it?” Peter pried. “You had to fuck him.”

“He wanted me to,” Derek countered, his anger evident.

“He’d want anyone to.”

“No,” Derek growled. “He didn’t want you—but even after everything you put him through, he still wanted the baby you forced on him to live.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Derek. “Jonathon was yours—”

“No,” Derek corrected him. “Jonathon was _yours_.” He shook his head, releasing a wounded laugh. “But in the end, he was more mine than yours. You wouldn’t even look at him, let alone hold him. After everything you always said about family—about _pack_.”

“He wasn’t pack,” Peter snapped.

“He was Stiles’ son, and whether you want to admit it or not, he was yours as well.” Derek glared at Peter. “But don’t worry, _uncle_ , the world will all think he was mine, and Stiles and I actually prefer it that way.”

Peter carefully observed Derek. “I dare say there isn’t a thing that could make me regret this outcome, _nephew_.”

~*~

Stiles sat awake as the hours grew longer, the night falling away. His gaze was stuck staring out the window, watching the moon linger in the sky. He was scared to think of what Derek was doing now—if their duel was truly going to be at dawn.

Stiles startled when he heard the ruckus coming from downstairs. He tied his dressing gown tightly, his footsteps rushed when he realized his father was speaking in hushed tones with someone. He slowed when he saw the door cracked open, his father not allowing the person in.

“I have to deliver it to Omega Hale, sir,” the messenger pressed, keeping the envelope from John.

“I’m his father—”

“But not a Hale,” the messenger answered. “Please, I was instructed to just give it to Omega Hale.”

“What is it?” Stiles voiced his presence, taking the necessary steps to get closer to the messenger.

“Stiles, it can’t be anything—”

“Of importance?” Stiles hollowly asked his father, looking at him for the first time. “My husband and Alpha has been challenged by his nephew for the right to our pack. And tonight is the last night I know of any certainty. Surely this letter has to be of some importance.”

The messenger cleared his throat, looking at Stiles. “It’s from Alpha Hale.”

Stiles stared at the messenger. “Which one?”

“Um, oh, Peter,” the messenger shyly answered.

Stiles looked at the envelope, wondering if he should accept the letter. It was likely one last taunt from Peter—another threat left in demeaning script. He hesitated before snatching the letter from the messenger. “Is that all?”

“Yes, my lord,” the messenger bowed his head. He briefly looked at John, uttering, “I’m sorry, sir. I was just following orders.”

John waved the boy off, knowing that there was little to be done when ordered to do an Alphas bidding. He closed the door as he watched the messenger leave, turning to look at Stiles. His eyes fell on the letter that was still tightly clutched in Stiles’ hand. “Do you want me to open it?” He faintly asked.

Stiles shook his head. “He meant it for me.”

John frowned. “That doesn’t mean you have to read it.”

Stiles looked at his father. “I don’t want you to read what he says about me,” he clarified.

John looked at Stiles, his features twisting into a frown as he shook his head. “How couldn’t I see this, Stiles?”

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I handed you to that monster,” John stated. “Thinking I was doing the right thing. I thought I was giving you everything you could ever want—a pack of high standing, financial security, and an Alpha with a kind disposition.”

Stiles released a wounded laugh. “We were both fooled by Peter’s act, dad. We both thought he was like Derek, and we couldn’t have been more wrong.” He looked down at the letter in his hand. He wondered what Peter could possibly say to him to make this worse.

Stiles ignored his fear, tearing open the letter as a silence hung over the house. His hands were steady as he unfolded the paper. He recognized Peter’s handwriting from the reports he constantly wrote, knowing that this was the first and last letter he would ever receive from Peter.

_Stiles,_

_The moon is high in the sky as I write this. You’re likely pacing from your fear for Derek’s safety. Was there ever a time I cared as much as you do? I’m told there was—a time before the fire._

_I’ve often wondered, in the past years, how long can hate hold something together? A decade feels much longer than possible._

_I can’t even remember what Ida looked like without staring at that portrait. There were times, in the budding light of the rising sun, that I tricked myself into believing she was there, laying in bed beside me. The light would highlight your hair, even accent the unnaturally soft curves of your skin, and for the briefest of moments, I had her back._

_But with every morning I woke beside you, the more I realized that you weren’t her—you never could be._

_You were a prize—a validation that my broken pack needed. I wanted nothing to do with you, but was too proud to allow another to have you. I nearly tore apart my pack’s resources to even have a chance of vying for your hand._

_And in the end, I hated myself for it—degrading myself for an Omega I barely knew, and felt nothing but indifference towards._

_You were never something I wanted, but needed._

_You gave my pack direction, crafting the broken and fragile pieces into something beautiful and filled with meaning. You were willing to create a new home inside a cage, and I hated you all the more for it._

_And then Derek’s eyes found yours. My nephew has always been a foolish one, incapable of functioning with intent. Yet when he laid eyes on you, it was as if he had to struggle against his most natural instincts—ones telling him to take what could be his. I watched him for a time, seeing the small glances he stole._

_Then you dared to give me Natalia—an heir. You couldn’t let me throw you away. My skin crawled when Derek brought her to me—a child I didn’t want, from a mate I didn’t intend on keeping._

_As she grew and became more beautiful and intelligent, she reminded me of my sister and nieces—everything I thought my child with Ida would be. Everything about Natalia is more Hale than I am now. It was different to have that in my life again._

_It made me want more—to have children that could carry on my family’s legacy. But Natalia looked too much like Derek. And in the end, his loyalty to the pack made it all too easy to twist him into being away long enough to make sure you took with child before he came back to the estate._

_And then, as fate would have it, my child died. For a long time, I didn’t think he was even mine—the way you mourned him was heartbreaking to watch. I didn’t think anyone could mourn something that was partly mine. But in the end, he was yours more than he could ever have been mine._

_Even when I tried to have Derek killed, you managed to thwart that attempt—your love and desire for him drove you to be more than the Omega you pretended to be. I was angry with you for your display at Lady Martin’s party, but I can’t deny the pride I felt in having an Omega that would reject an Alpha like Deucalion._

_What little pride I felt for you fled the moment I knew I’d find you in his bed. It felt like a cruel irony—the boy that burned his pack alive became the man to repair the burnt remains. I sat and watched the way you slept so soundly, tucked beneath Derek’s arm like you belonged there._

_I wonder how Derek will fair at dawn—if he’ll be able to do what he should have done from the start. If you can, help him restart—drag him away from this pit of ash and bones. There is nothing but nightmares for him here, and it’s time he left it behind him._

_Keep him safe, and make him understand the truth—it was never his fault, despite how often I convinced him of it. As for me, I’m no longer the uncle he remembers. The man I was died the night the fire tore through the estate, dispatching every person I held dear. Derek is just finishing the fire’s work._

_I won’t apologize for what happened. I know that’s not something you want, nor need. Nothing I say can change what I’ve done to you, nor what you’ve done to survive. I will, however, apologize for Natalia having to think I’m her father._

_If you’re as kind as you were before I met you, you’ll forget me, and you’ll ask your daughter to do the same._

_Find peace in this life, Stiles. It’s the only one we get._

_Peter Hale_

Stiles stared at Peter’s words, his hands beginning to tremble as he read through the letter again. His eyes darted back and forth as he reread some of the lines. He didn’t believe it— _couldn’t_ believe it. “He knows,” he softly uttered, his voice weak from the shock.

“Knows what?” John asked, taking a step towards Stiles. He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, concerned that whatever it was might be too much.

“He knows Natalia isn’t his,” Stiles barely answered. “He … he knew. That’s why he was so adamant that I get pregnant while Derek was away.” His stomach twisted, a sickening feeling rising in his chest and lodging in his throat. “He did this on purpose. And even in the end … he couldn’t be bothered to care about Jonathon.”

“Would you have cared if he thought anything about Jonathon?” John carefully asked, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

A tremble passed through Stiles as he let the letter drop from his hands. He released a heavy sigh, turning to look at his father. “If Derek doesn’t survive—”

“You can’t think that way,” John started.

“I’ll kill Peter myself,” Stiles firmly stated. He looked at his father. “I need you to protect Natalia. Should anything happen.”

“I’ll do it,” John countered. “If something happens to Derek, I’ll—”

“I’m not going to hide behind you,” Stiles softly stated as he shook his head.

John pulled Stiles in close, hugging him tightly.

Stiles pressed his face into his father’s shoulder, closing his eyes as he tried to keep himself calm.

~*~

Derek finished unbuttoning his jacket, slipping it off of his shoulders as he shrugged out of the tailored material. He handed the jacket off to Boyd when he realized the Beta was expectedly holding out his hand. He offered a small nod to Boyd, a gesture of appreciation. He worked on undoing the cuffs of his shirt, hesitating as he started to roll up his sleeves. He abandoned the thought of doing up his sleeves, electing to remove his shirt entirely. He knew it would just be ruined in the scuffle, likely to be torn and stained with blood. He turned his attention back to Peter, watching his uncle.

Peter looked as if he was minding his own business, calming removing his own jacket as if he was about to sit down and discuss paperwork—not risking his life to defend the honor Derek muddied. He turned an eye to Derek, aware of his nephew’s gaze on him. He loosened the ties on his shirt, pulling the material up over his head. He dropped his discarded clothes onto the ground, not caring what happened to them.

Derek kept his gaze on Peter as he spoke to Boyd. “If I die, I want you to send Isaac to Alpha Stilinski. Tell him to ride as fast as he can. Tell him to warn Alpha Stilinski.”

“We’re all willing to protect them, Derek,” Boyd stated in reassurance.

“I know,” Derek replied. “Just stay safe—all of you.”

There was a silence that fell over all those present. It was an eerie silence that spoke volumes to the severity of it all. Peter only looked at Derek, unmoving in the moment as he evaluated him. He knew the difference between them, knowing that Derek was on the verge of attacking. He held himself back, waiting out the moment that Derek would inevitably make the mistake of charging.

Derek knew what Peter was doing the moment he realized his uncle wasn’t going to move. He weighed the pros and cons of charging Peter, knowing he could fall short on delivering enough of a devastating blow to injure Peter. He knew he was being played with when a faint smirk pulled at Peter’s lips. He took the calculated risk, charging at Peter.

~*~

Derek pressed a hand to his thigh, a quick assessment of the damage Peter’s claws had managed. He kept his gaze on Peter, watching his uncle stagger. His claws were bloody, knowing he had dug them deep into Peter’s side. His own side was on fire, a reminder that Peter managed to claw him in return.

At this rate, they were both bound to hack each other apart before the end was in sight.

~*~

Stiles was sitting at the table, tea long forgotten as he stared out the window at the sun. He watched the bright light shining high above the trees, knowing that the melancholy he felt wouldn’t pass until he knew the outcome of the duel.

Natalia was restless in her seat as she tried to gain her father’s attention. “We should go to town,” she commented. “It’s already a lovely morning. One for going to town—like Derek said.”

Stiles didn’t answer, his gaze stuck to the window.

“Not today, honey,” John decidedly answered Natalia’s suggestion.

“But I still haven’t gone,” Natalia complained.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” John offered.

“I’ve already waited,” Natalia whined.

“Not today!” Stiles quickly stated, the words rushing out louder than he intended. He turned his head to look at Natalia. “Not … not today, sweetheart,” he restated in a softer tone, a tired expression pulling across his features.

Natalia looked away from Stiles, staring down at her plate as she nodded in acceptance. “When Derek’s here?” She asked in a small, uncertain voice. She knew something was happening with Derek—something bad enough to worry Stiles.

Stiles looked away from Natalia and back to scenery outside the window. “When Derek’s here.”

~*~

“If you honestly think this is the end of it, you’re more delusional than I thought,” Peter uttered, spitting the blood from his mouth.

They were both struggling to remain standing. But Peter knew Derek had hesitated twice already, avoiding a killing blow. He almost pitied Derek.

“I won’t let another person hurt him again,” Derek countered. He released a low grunt of pain as he shoved his hand against his shoulder, snapping the joint back into place. He was tired, his energy leaving him. He knew he had to finish it sooner rather than later, especially now that the sun was already breeching above the trees.

“Deucalion will pursue him, much more now that he’s going to another Hale,” Peter calmly answered as he moved to stand. The movement was difficult, causing him to sway to the side, his balance nearly lost.

“I won’t let him near my pack,” Derek lowly stated. “That was your mistake, not mine.”

Peter laughed. “You’re a fool for thinking you can save this pack,” he uttered. “More of a fool for this Omega than your last.”

Derek glared at Peter.

“He has you exactly where he wants you, chasing your own tail for him,” Peter pushed. “You’re just as pathetic with him as you were with Kate.”

Derek clenched his teeth, his jaw hurting from the pressure of his fangs gnashing together.

“Hopefully this time he won’t burn your home down,” Peter mocked. “You never said—” He partially laughed at the thought of it. “Was that before or after Kate let you knot her?” He stood to his full height, narrowing his gaze on Derek. “I suppose a homicidal Omega bitch is worse than the— what did you call him when you pleaded with John to take him away? A “whore of a son, and his bastard”?”

Derek’s claws pierced the soft skin of his palm, every part of his instincts demanding he kill Peter then and there. He knew Peter was goading him—in the end, he knew that much.

~*~

Natalia was sitting in Stiles’ lap when she heard the coming sound of hooves. She looked up at the trail, waiting to see who their visitor was.

Stiles was idly running his fingertips through Natalia’s hair, crossing and looping the strands of hair into a braid. He looked up when he noticed Natalia was sitting up to attention. He realized more and more that her senses were heightened the older she got. He knew, without a doubt, that it was the spark of her Alpha instincts growing. He turned his attentions toward the trail, his gaze looking after what Natalia was.

The rider was Isaac.

Stiles sat up, forcing Natalia to slide off his lap and stand up on her feet. He stood in front of his chair, his eyes stuck on Isaac. The worst ran through his mind—it was supposed to be Derek. “Go inside,” he weakly uttered.

“Papa—”

Stiles turned towards Natalia, kneeling down in front of her as he grasped her shoulders. “I need you to go inside to grandpa,” he instructed her. “Tell him a rider is coming—tell him its Isaac.”

“You’re upset,” Natalia argued, her eyebrows furrowing in fearful uncertainty.

“I need you to be a big girl for me,” Stiles continued, holding back the prickling of tears that burned the back of his throat. “Can you do that for me?” He gently cupped her small face in his hands, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone as he wiped away a stray tear.

Natalia nodded, running into the house to find her grandfather.

Stiles remained kneeling as he tried to catch his bearings. He pressed his hands down over his stomach, smoothing out the material of his vest. His stomach twisted when he heard the galloping hooves slowing to a soft trot. He moved to stand, his balance only slightly off as he swayed to the side. He placed his hand on the chair for stability, turning his attention towards Isaac.

Isaac was out of breath, as if he had been at breakneck speeds since he started. “I came to tell you the news—”

“Derek’s dead,” Stiles solemnly stated, the words like bile in his mouth.

“No,” Isaac hurriedly stated, his eyes widening. “Derek lives,” he stated for reassurance.

“And Peter?” Stiles asked, unsure what to expect.

Isaac looked surprised by Stiles’ question. “I’m to inform you that you are widowed. That both you and Natalia are to have Derek as a new Alpha.”

Stiles released a heavy breath, his knees weakening as he sunk down into the chair once again. His eyes burned with tears of joy this time, a soft laugh cracked from his chest before he started to cry, overcome with emotion. He placed his head in his hands as he cried, unable to stop himself.

“Stiles,” John hurriedly called as he exited the house and appeared on the porch. “Stiles,” he quickly moved to his son, grabbing a delicate hold of his arm. “We’ll leave—if we hurry, we could be out of the country by nightfall.”

Stiles shook his head, looking up at his father. “He’s dead.” He couldn’t suppress the crack of laughs that forced their way through his tears. “And Derek’s alive.”

John looked at Isaac in confusion.

“Peter’s dead,” Stiles restated. “And Derek’s alive. I didn’t lose him.”

~*~

Stiles didn’t wait for the carriage to come to a stop, precariously opening the door and jumping down. He stumbled some from the quickness of his action, making himself laugh as he corrected himself. He hurried towards the front door of the estate, his heart quickening with every step he drew closer. He tried not to be rude, feeling guilty when he realized that he was nearly ignoring everyone else, focusing only on finding Derek.

Isaac had said Derek suffered minor injuries from Peter, but they were enough to call for Deaton, who in turn placed Derek on bed rest immediately.

Stiles slowed to a stop as he came to Derek’s room, taking a small step into the doorway. He smiled when he saw Derek. He walked into the room, moving to sit on the bedside by Derek. He nearly threw himself over Derek, hugging him tightly as he avoided leaning on him too much. He was afraid of hurting Derek more, but wanted to hold him.

“I’m fine,” Derek huffed out in a soft chuckle, pressing his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck.

“I love you,” Stiles uttered, pulling back to press kisses to Derek’s face. “I was so scared,” he barely stated.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, his hands softly touching Stiles’ sides.

“I’m not the one that’s injured,” Stiles countered.

“I meant …” Derek stopped, looking towards the door. He remained silent as he watched Natalia running into the room.

Natalia stopped before the bed, wringing her hands softly as she looked at both Derek and her father. She looked at Stiles when he turned to observe her. “Grandpa said I should wait, but … I wanted to see Derek,” she shyly admitted.

Stiles smiled at Natalia. “That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Natalia moved over to Stiles, her eyes focused on Derek. “Are you okay?” She asked as her gaze fell on the exposed skin of Derek’s torso. She could see the burns that were scarred in Derek’s arm and shoulder, catching sight of the healing gashes running along Derek’s sides.

“I will be now that you’re both here,” Derek answered.

Natalia smiled as she looked up at Derek. She reached her hands out to Stiles, a silent gesture for Stiles to pick her up.

Stiles lifted her with ease, settling her in his lap.

Natalia leaned forward, hugging Derek.

Derek wrapped his arm around Natalia, pressing his nose into the curls of her hair as he breathed in her scent. He closed his eyes, feeling calm and at ease now that he had both Stiles and Natalia here. He opened his eyes, catching the sight of Stiles watching him. He smiled at Stiles, reaching his free arm out to touch Stiles’ arm.

Stiles smiled as he placed his hand on Derek’s, his fingers brushing over Derek’s knuckles.

It was home.

~*~

It was a small wedding, unlike the spectacle Stiles had suffered before. He wasn’t dressed in ornate garments that smothered him in cloth. He wore a simple but elegant vest, one that flared at the collar high enough to rest beneath his jaw. The cloth of Natalia’s dress matched his own pattern.

Derek had healed enough to be unbothered by his wounds as he stood, waiting for Stiles and Natalia. He wanted to turn and look, to take in the sight of Stiles and Natalia walking towards him. But he would be damned if Stiles didn’t at least have this be normal in his life.

Stiles held onto his father’s arm as John walked them both down the aisle. He held Natalia’s hand, looking down at her briefly to see her beaming with excitement as she stared ahead of them. He looked up to see the Betas waiting for them to reach the end of the aisle.

Erica and Isaac stood at attention by the end of the aisle, smiles on their faces as they watched the scene before them. Boyd obediently waited for John to reach him, offering a faint nod of his head as he reached to take Stiles’ hand from John, initiating the symbolic transfer of packs.

Stiles smiled at his dad as he released his hold on John, turning to allow Boyd to take his hand. He rested his hand on Boyd’s as he took the necessary steps up to the altar. He looked up at Derek, unable to hide his joy when the Alpha turned to look at him for the first time.

Derek took Stiles’ hand, his own smile matching the others. He reached his other hand to Natalia, easily directing her to stand between the both of them.

~*~

Despite how out of order it all was, it was perfect. It was a celebration surrounded by friends, family, and pack.

Natalia stayed with John, giving both Stiles and Derek time alone for the night.

Stiles held Derek’s hand as they walked down the halls, his other hand hugging Derek’s arm to his chest.

They walked together in near silence as they approached their room.

Stiles laughed when Derek slipped out of his hold in order to lift him up in Derek’s arms. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips. He smiled into their kiss as Derek pushed open the door with his foot. His fingers traced along the curve of Derek’s jaw, his fingertips running through Derek’s beard. He fought against frowning when he felt the claw marks Peter had left there.

They were both scarred, and Stiles wondered if what Peter had written in his letter held any truth to it. Could they start again, away from the estate and the memories it held?

Stiles slipped from Derek’s arms, his feet firmly touching the ground before he released his hold on Derek. He turned to look at Derek, reaching his hands out to touch Derek’s face. He cupped Derek’s face in his hands as he guided their lips into a kiss. He huffed out a light laughter when Derek pulled him in close, lifting him off the ground once more.

Derek spread Stiles out over the bed, his fingertips slowly working open the formal vest wrapped around Stiles’ waist as they kissed. He smiled into their kiss as they pulled at each other’s clothes.

Stiles had imagined this was what his marriage should have been from the beginning—a soft exchange of lingering kisses and unhurried hands that explored each other’s bodies. He was almost afraid that it was too perfect to be real—that he was about to wake up and be living in a nightmare without Derek.

~*~

“We should move,” Stiles softly stated as he turned to look at Derek. “Somewhere far away from here—where there are no bad memories.”

Derek looked at Stiles, carefully observing him as he leaned against his arm to hover over Stiles. He rested his hand on Stiles’ bare hip. “Is that what you want?”

Stiles looked down at his hands as he picked at his fingernails. “I think so.”

Derek placed a finger beneath Stiles’ chin, easing Stiles’ face to look up at him. “What about Jonathon?” He softly asked.

Stiles took in a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

Derek pressed a delicate kiss to Stiles’ lips, bringing him in closer.

Stiles ran his hand through Derek’s hair, fingers playing with the disarrayed locks. He dragged his fingernails across Derek’s scalp, holding Derek against his body. His other hand ran up and down Derek’s body, caressing him in a loving manner.

Derek knew it wasn’t an answer to Stiles suggestion. But it was more than Stiles could have hoped for.

It wasn’t until the morning light broke through the windowpanes that Stiles finally admitted the reason behind his suggestion.

“I don’t know when he wrote it,” Stiles softly explained as he settled in the bed behind Derek. He nearly wrapped himself around Derek’s back, his chin resting on Derek’s shoulder as his arms rested against Derek’s sides. He looked at the letter in Derek’s hand, almost afraid to see Peter’s handwriting again—it brought up more fears that the past few weeks were a lie.

Derek’s hands struggled against curling around the letter as he read his uncle’s writing. The admissions in it were as intimate as Peter had ever allowed someone to know besides Ida. He wondered the reasons for Peter writing the letter, knowing that it changed nothing. His eyes flickered over the last few words Peter had written.

“He knew,” Stiles stated against Derek’s skin, tightening his hold on Derek.

“He wanted me to kill him,” Derek barely spoke.

Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s shoulder blade. “I’m sorry, but I thought you deserved to know.”

“Why would he bother?” Derek questioned.

Stiles rested his head against the back of Derek’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe … maybe a part of him truly wanted this end.”

“Selfish bastard,” Derek roughly stated as he let the letter limply hang from between his fingers. “He shouldn’t even let me have my anger. I still hate him for it—for all of this. For taking advantage of me being a passive coward.”

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s chest, his hands resting flat against Derek’s skin.

“And he has to let us know he was at _peace_ with this,” Derek continued.

“He truly believed he belonged buried beside Ida and their child,” Stiles softly answered. “That’s all he cared about. And … and I think he was right. He always belonged there.”

Derek gently bracketed Stiles’ arms with his own, his hand covering Stiles’ hand that rested over his heart.

“I think he was right about us,” Stiles quietly broke the lingering silence. “We don’t belong here—the memories that linger here are too painful.”

“It’s my home,” Derek stated. “It’s always been my home—I’ve never known anything else.”

“Then we should try it,” Stiles answered. “A new beginning, with a fresh start.”

~*~

Natalia laughed as Victor chased after her. She was running at a moderate speed, feeling an ease in her steps. She looked over her shoulder at him, beckoning him to keep chasing her as they headed around the house.

“Be careful,” Allison called after them as she and Lydia walked side by side.

“If they trip, it’s their own fault,” Lydia stated, faintly laughing when Allison playfully pushed her shoulder.

Stiles looked out from the window in the study, smiling when Natalia waved at him. He waved back to both Natalia and Victor, suppressing his soft chuckle when Victor tripped when trying to tackle Natalia. He straightened up, turning around the room to observe the decorations around him. He could see this being home—their growing family joyfully spending their days here. He smiled when he felt a pair of familiar arms wrapping around him, pulling him back against a warm, solid chest.

“Do you like it?” Derek asked against the shell of Stiles’ ear.

“Do you?” Stiles asked back.

Derek released a soft chuckle. “If you’ll call if home, it will be my home.”

“I think it could be home,” Stiles answered in a soft tone, a hesitance in his voice.

“I’m not selling the estate,” Derek stated, as if he knew Stiles’ concerns.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek. “Can we afford that?” He asked, looking puzzled by it all.

Derek smiled at Stiles. “Peter was a good business man,” he explained. “I’m better.”

Stiles reached his hand up to touch Derek’s cheek, their foreheads lightly touching. He turned his head to look at the room, feeling at ease with Derek holding him close. “The estate … Would the pack still wish to live there? I’d understand if they didn’t want to.”

“Boyd, Erica, and Isaac all agreed that they wanted to stay there,” Derek confessed. “It’s their home—a home they put a great deal of work and love into. And they asked to keep it—a request I couldn’t refuse.”

Stiles nodded. “We can still visit Jonathon.”

“Of course,” Derek answered.

“And your family,” Stiles added.

Derek faintly murmured in agreement.

Stiles released a calm sigh. “I guess this is our home,” he happily stated.

“I’m glad you like it,” Derek replied, placing a kiss into the curve of Stiles’ neck.

“We’ll have to start with some happy memories,” Stiles commented as he ran his hands down Derek’s arms, moving to run along the back of Derek’s hands before entwining their fingers together.

“Well, Allison and Lydia could watch the kids while we—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Stiles countered, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he echoed Derek’s soft chuckle.

“Well, what did you have in mind?” Derek playfully asked.

Stiles smiled as he looked around the room. “I think I know what I want to do with this room.”

“Mhm,” Derek hummed, waiting for Stiles to explain his intentions.

Stiles moved Derek’s hands down his torso, pressing Derek’s hands into his stomach until Derek’s palm rested low beneath his navel. He waited a moment, turning his head to look at Derek.

Derek was staring at where his hand rested against Stiles’ stomach, his eyes slowly widening with every passing second. He looked at Stiles’ face to judge his answer. “You’re …”

Stiles nodded. “Mhm,” he hummed in a similar manner to Derek’s earlier comment. “And I think this would be a nice nursery,” he concluded.

Derek smiled, reaching his hand up to cup Stiles’ face as he drew him into a kiss. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathed into their kiss.

Stiles shook his head. “No,” he answered, nuzzling back into Derek’s hold. “You’re the only one for me.”


End file.
